


Good Feelings

by candysays



Category: The Breakfast Club (1985)
Genre: Allison has a lot to learn about makeup, Angst, Bad boys mouthing off, Canon Relationships, Claire Standish is confused, F/M, Future Fic, Humor, John Bender caused me so much trouble in my youth, John has a lot to learn, Makeout closet, Monday morning, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, bad boy with a heart of gold, friendship fic, in reality bad boys are just dicks, kissing fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-05-29 09:19:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6368989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candysays/pseuds/candysays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Repost. Monday morning fic. Canon pairings. Will John Bender be too much of a dick all of the time or just some of the time? Will Claire manage to become a better person through lipstick choices? Will Allison Reynolds solve everything with her extreme coolness and lipstick choices? Will Andrew Clark become interesting? Will Brian Johnson learn to build a better lamp and find a girlfriend? or a boyfriend?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing right after John Hughes died and have been writing ever since. Also, it's 200K words of songfic--all the songs on The Violent Femmes first album. They just came out with a new album, so I figured if they can do that, I can finish this fic.
> 
> In later chapters, there are some M-rated extras that I post as a separate fic. I'm finally moving this over from ff.net in honor of the anniversary of the movie, but it could take me a while.

Good feelings,  
won't you stay with me  
just a little longer . . .

As John Bender walked home his body buzzed a little with each step. Everything felt different.

He'd become aware of his skin, especially where she'd put her lips against his neck, all awkward, innocent, and the sexiest thing he'd ever seen, ever. Sexier than the view of her cotton panties under the desk, sexier than that stupid trick with the lipstick between her breasts, sexier even than when they'd kissed goodbye.

He stopped dead in his tracks, because he realized that suddenly not only the sexiest thing he'd ever seen but all the runners up he could think of came from what? Not from his respectable list of back-seat make-out sessions or under-the-bleachers sex or even from his father's massive porn stash from but from a virgin he'd spent a few hours insulting in detention.

Bender shook his head laughed out loud, at himself, at her, at the whole surprising day.

His hand reached up and touched the earring, the fucking diamond earring, the diamond that the queen of the whole fucking school had given him, him. That was pretty good too. She'd taken it out of her ear, her pristine, never-been-tongued ear, and given it to him.

Either she wanted to tell him she didn't care about diamonds or tell him she cared about him enough to give him one, and for once both sides of that story sounded pretty good.

That girl, that princess girl, had taken her diamond and put it in his big, dirty hand and closed that hand and pressed hers around it, like she meant it. And then he had kissed her and she had kissed him back like she meant that too, lips opening to let his tongue meet hers after all with only a moment's hesitation, darting her own out shyly but with conviction, sliding it gently along his for the briefest touch . . .well, fuck. That had been pretty sexy too.

He was in so much trouble.

He shook his head again to try to stop the spinning. Then he looked around and realized he was almost to the edge of the wide field he'd been walking through. That put him closer to home and with this awareness his mood darkened.

Claire might have been sympathetic when he told stories about his life but that didn't mean that the reality of it was something she'd want in hers. Or that he should put it there. Worthless. He knew what her friends would say, they'd say the same thing she'd said earlier, the same thing their parents said and his parents said.

Worthless. The one thing everyone from both sides of the tracks could agree on. John Bender was a worthless punk.

Bender took a deep breath as if to blow it all away, but the air in his lungs expanded his chest outward and brought back that sense of skin, it tingled where her lips had touched him, on his body, when he hadn't even been going to try to go there with her.

That was the thing. She came to him, to tell him that in spite of every mean, true thing he'd said to her all day, or hell—maybe even because of them, she saw something in him that was worth something. Worth a risk. Worth touching with her mouth.

He didn't want to go home yet. He couldn't lose this sense, this good feeling that was humming and buzzing all over him. He lay right down in the grass, stretched out under the sinking sun in the cold late air and the ground pressed up against his back, through his coats and boots.

And all of it, the sun and the air and the grass and the cold said, "Yes, you are here. That did just happen."

It did. The one girl who could have anyone in the whole school, anyone in the same school that only pissed on him, shit on him, threatened him and locked him in a closet, had chosen him.

She risked getting caught by that asshole to come to that closet for him. She came for him. Like he was Rapunzel, for Chrissake. Despite everything. Despite his teasing and mocking and shouting at her.

She came to the closet to kiss him because even though he'd practically shoved his face up her crotch while she was trying to protect him, she somehow knew he wouldn't make a move for serious.

Why he wouldn't, he didn't even know because he was sure he'd gotten her more hot and bothered than she was used to just with the eye sex and talking dirty and yelling at her. But. Then he saw her liking him, sticking up for him, lying for him, caring about what he said, and suddenly she was right, he wouldn't have touched her, like she was to good for that.

So how did she know he wouldn't? It wasn't like he hadn't done enough to her, been enough of an asshole.

Maybe she knew he believed what they said about him just a little too much and wanted him to know that she didn't. Maybe she wanted him to know that even though he'd been right about so many things, he was wrong if he thought she was frigid or too pristine to touch, and that if the world thought she was too good for him and he thought so too, she didn't.

And then that girl whose innocence he'd outed and mocked gave him an innocent, curious, sexy as hell kiss on his neck. It still burned there, just a little, as the cold March evening chilled his skin everywhere else.

It was like the world had opened just a little bit more to John Bender. He stretched out his limbs.

He had no idea what would happen on Monday but she'd given him something already, something he didn't have before. He wasn't going to tell her that, not right away. Clearly, she was the kind of girl who liked to be kept guessing just a little bit. The kind of girl too used to having everything handed to her before she even knew she wanted it.

No. Not the kind of girl. Not any kind of girl, just her. Just a girl. The girl, maybe.

What the fuck? Sounded like maybe he was the girl. What was he even thinking? Not even one part of him believed that kind of bullshit. Might be the girl. Jesus.

So much trouble.

Bender got up, shook himself off and started walking again. He lit a cigarette and let the smoke fill deep into his lungs, calming and cooling him just a little bit on the inside with its dry heat. Cool worked with her. He needed to keep it.

All he knew, he hoped like hell she was thinking about him too.

***

Claire dove onto her bed and buried her head in the pile of pink fluffy pillows so no one could hear her in case she screamed. It seemed like she might, like something inside her might need to get out. She felt so full and so light at the same time.

She'd never felt like this before. It was like happy butterflies had taken off under her skin and were fluttering there, just beneath the surface. She'd had butterflies in the stomach before a dance or piano recital or when Blake Pitney walked by her desk in fifth grade, but these were everywhere, taking over every part of her body. Breathing was almost hard because of them, but breathing was also more exciting. Breathing made her happy.

She heard her parents arguing downstairs and that made her happy for once because it meant she could keep from talking to them and keep from fake smiling or pretending not to notice and instead just keep that feeling on her lips that had been on him.

The tiny empty hole in her earlobe made happy. How dumb was that? It was proof it happened, proof she'd done something risky and brave and stupid, maybe more than one thing. She could have gotten into so much trouble. Probably still could. And for what?

He insulted her friends, her family, her lunch—he mocked her for using sex she'd never even had and then he mocked her for that, too. She knew these things, she knew them.

He was right. She couldn't ignore him if she tried. She had tried so hard.

But she knew, even as she sat in there in that library and listened to him lay into her, that he was right, right about her and the way her life was and what was wrong about it. She hadn't liked that part of the day in the sense of enjoying it but somehow, by insulting her friends, her family, her lunch—he showed that those things weren't why he was interested in her. He was interested in her, and wanted to get through the bullshit.

God, so did she.

He'd mocked her earrings. So she gave him one. She wanted to show him she could meet him halfway.

What would that even mean?

He'd clearly had a lot of girls. She felt a little miserable at the thought of his wallet and all those pictures of those sexier, more experienced girls. She didn't want to think about what he'd done with them.

What if he just wanted to "pop her cherry?" She wasn't ready for that. Even though she felt, tonight, after John Bender's mouth had been on hers and her mouth had been on John Bender, she felt readier for something than she ever had before. Not that. Not yet. Not for a while. Just the thought of it made her feel tense.

But she did remember the feeling that warmed and buzzed in her body as he said those words "under the blouse, over the bra," "over the panties, no bra" and how despite everything she imagined his hands on her in those places, and the thought of that made her breathing change and new parts of her buzz and she was positive that he could see that. Was that why?

Maybe she was the one who just wanted him to . . .show her, because he could?

She shook her head. She remembered other things too. The look in his eyes as he nodded when she said she wasn't going to be like her parents. He really heard her. She knew he did.

The way he took it on himself without even thinking to keep her and the others safe, letting them get away while he piled on even more trouble and detention on himself. Sure, maybe part of him liked it, for sure he did. But he didn't need to do that for her. And she knew, he did it for her.

Most of all, she remembered the look on his face when she showed up at the closet where he'd been locked. He'd gotten himself locked up to help her and then climbed through the ceiling and then fallen through the ceiling and crawled back to the hole they locked him up in.

OK, so maybe it wasn't just for her. He seemed like he cared a lot about the others. Even Andy, at the end. Plus Bender was for sure not the kind of a guy who would rather stay locked in a closet than get high with a bunch of other kids. He liked taking risks for the hell of it. He liked doing the thing no one thought anyone do because it was so outrageous. That was clear.

But she knew he didn't like that Principal Dick, as she would now forever think of him. Something wasn't right there, the way he talked to John, and she knew John felt that too, they all had. It's why everyone had stuck their necks out for John, too. Well, that and because he was really entertaining.

Still, she knew part of why he'd done it was for her. She knew what it was like to have people do things for her, and what John had done felt like that and not like that at the same time.

People were always doing things for her. But not like that. Not real things. Not things that didn't cost money, but cost something else.

So she tried to do something for him. She walked through the hallway, too. Quietly, sure. Not to get caught. But it was a lot more rule-breaking, a lot more risk-taking, than she was used to. Sneaking through the halls to find the school delinquent so she could kiss him in the janitor's closet felt different from cutting class to go shopping. It even felt different from getting high with everyone else in the library.

It wasn't going along with what everyone else was doing, which was always easier. It was really easy if what everyone else was doing was what she wanted to do anyway. But even when what everyone else was doing was something she didn't want to do, something maybe she hated, on the inside, it was still easier to go along than to do what she'd done today.

Which was doing something no one else was doing, because she wanted to.

It was surprising. It was both harder and easier than she had thought.

And the way he looked at her, when she got there? She could tell he hadn't had even one thought that she would show up there. That it would have never crossed his mind in a million years that Claire Standish, Prom Queen, would show up in the janitor's closet to see him.

She could tell for that flicker of a moment before he covered with a smartass comment, that it meant something to him that she did. She could tell it meant a lot.

You lost? OK, so the smartass comment made her feel weak in the knees so she had to lean back against the door. He just looked good when he said those things. He knew he looked good and that looked good too. She knew she would have to be careful of that look.

But the look before it, when he looked at her, in her, made her feel powerful. It made her feel like he wanted something that he wasn't getting anywhere else, something he maybe even hadn't known he wanted, and that she, she, had it.

When she kissed him he was even more surprised. He shouldn't have been. Like he said, she couldn't ignore him if she tried. He was the one who insisted that she was so pristine. Sure, she might not have done those things he talked about. It didn't mean she didn't ever want to.

With the right person.

John Bender might not be the right person. She knew that. She had no idea what would happen on Monday. What she did know, is that John Bender had made her feel a hundred different things, good and bad, that she had never felt before. He, Mr Burnout Delinquent Criminal, taught her things she hadn't known she needed to learn. Some of them she hadn't wanted to. Like about cigars and their uglier uses.

Claire shuddered. If John had been here now, she would have thrown her arms around him, tried to protect him.

At least that would make him laugh.

What had she taught him?

How to put a lipstick on with no hands. He was going to be grateful for life.

Claire squirmed on the bed. No. That wasn't how he made her feel. Not at the end. At the end she felt that whatever it was that he'd gotten from her, it was worth an awful lot.

She sighed again, came up from under the pillows. She went over to her dressing table and looked at her face in the mirrors. From all sides.

She didn't look very romantic. She still had red hair and freckles. She didn't look any different, any more daring, any more . . .sexy than she did before. Idly, Claire put her hand up to the earring that was still there and twisted it between her fingers.

Now she was going to think about something else.

Like what lipstick would make her lips look like lips a boy like John Bender would really, really want to kiss? And what outfit would say, "I'm still the same person and I'm not changing for anyone but I am changing, a little, because I want to be different?"


	2. Chapter 2

Vague sketch of a fantasy  
Laughing at the sunrise  
Like he's been up all night.

-Violent Femmes

Strolling back across the field, 7:10 AM on a Monday, John Bender was still feeling ok. He took a long drag on his Marlboro. A weekend free of bruises, a couple of joints, cash playing pool from some stupid uptown kid, a new level on Tempest. He'd even cracked a book. Didn't get very far with it but still, maybe there'd be another one that would take.

He figured if he did just one thing a little different, this time, reading, maybe next weekend, poker instead of pool, it would remind him that things might not be exactly the same even though his dad still smelled like beer and piss, his mom still looked tired and sullen, and they both still glared at him like he was some kind of disease.

He didn't have quite the sense of the world opening to John Bender that he'd had the last time he'd walked across this field, not after his mother's shrug when he asked about breakfast or lunch. But he didn't have the same pissed off feeling that you have when you know you have to go somewhere to get fucked over and the only thing you have going for your day is to fuck the fucker over first. Or just get fucked up.

This was definitely better. Today, John was wondering what might happen, instead of dreading the certainty of its tedium spreading over him like tar or rage that would burn through him like a cherry on a cigarette or the cold, mean glee of looking forward to watching it burn through someone else.

Cherry. Cherry on a cigarette, like on a joint, the way those big soft lips would close and purse around it, she'd lick them, closing her eyes, she'd concentrate, she'd suck the smoke into her mouth, let it pour down her throat, deep down . . .

Ok. John took a pull on the cigarette. He breathed out slowly, through his nose. All cool here, man. Nothing to see.

He thought about Brian smoking for a minute. All cool.

He was a little nervous, though, about how—God no, not nervous because he was not, daydreaming aside, not that much of a girl but he was a little—and here he blew an impressively controlled stream of smoke—unsure about how to play it today.

There were some things he was looking forward to seeing how they played out, he had some sense of how it would go, like when Brian came up nervously to catch his eye.

John would say something like "Hey, nerd, how's it hanging," and Brian would come up all red and pleased because John talked to him and stutter off a hi or a comment that would be unintelligible. Then Bender might turn away but then turn back and say, "Dude, catch you in shop," if he was in a good mood or, "What are we having for lunch today? Can you ask your mom for extra mayo next time?" And Brian would practically split open with a shit-eating grin and that would be cool because the kid was alright if a little spastic and maybe John would get lunch out of it. And Brian was certainly different, Bender talking to Brian was more different than the school was ready for, and all in all, that exchange should play out amusing as hell.

John took a last drag of his cigarette, any more would be burning filter, and flicked it over the edge of the grass onto the blacktop.

If Allison and Andy were still hanging and Andy was being decent he might ask Andy if he played poker. If Andy had ditched or was being the asshole he clearly could be then John might have to fuck him up, of course, because Allison was chill but didn't have anyone else to look out for her and John sure as hell knew what that felt like.

This was all cool and might play out a different way and it would be interesting to see how people reacted or didn't react and it would be different anyway and that was, on some level, all it needed to be.

But Claire. That was where things got a little less clear. Because he was pretty sure asking her to ditch and smoke pot with him all day or if or if she wanted to head out to the bleachers for a minute was not the way to go with that one. And that pretty much exhausted his ladykiller playbook. Fuck.

This would probably be easier if he weren't such an asshole.

Although really, he guessed, that had worked with her so far.

John Bender hung his head just a little bit as he remembered Claire crying at his words, as he remembered the sense of victory he'd felt at having cracked that code, having made his mark and mattered to her. But it was fucked up, the way her little princess friends treated people, the way they looked at or didn't look at or looked through people. He didn't completely regret some of the shit he'd said but it still didn't make him feel good because he'd like to see a little more how it felt to make that girl fell good. Again, to be different.

And he wanted, he really wanted her to look at him like that, in that smiling, knowing, but still shy way, again.

As to any other things he wanted, he really needed not to think about them right now because . . .

. . . there was the school, Shermer High, looming large and prison-like right in front of him. Part of him wanted nothing more than to dive out of the way behind a dumpster and smoke a joint or seven. That would help with keeping his cool. But as part of his doing one or two things different today he wasn't going to get high before school, not even before first period Government.

He could, however, cut Government, and then it wouldn't be first period any more and then he could get high.

But fuck that. Dope was fine but he wasn't about to turn into some burnout version of his father, or some creature like Skins, the dopiest pothead in the school who lived on Twinkies and Pringles and bonghits and looked at the world through tiny red eyes whose lids never even made half mast.

Hell no. He didn't need that shit and he didn't need to calm down because he wasn't nervous. Just . .. unsure how best to proceed.

Part of him wanted to go right up to her and demand recognition, to go up to her and sling his arm over her and kiss her right and right in front of her prissy little friends and watch them all squirm. And feel her squirm up against him. Then he'd see, he'd see if it had been real or all just a fantasy he made up out of some rich girl's whim. Would she kiss back? Would she shove him away with that look that said, how did such a large cockroach find its way to my shoe? Or would she stand tall for him?

But even if she did, really, that wasn't how he wanted this to go.

Deep down, he knew Claire had passed a test he never would have dreamed of putting her to and he didn't want to test her again. He didn't want to play it with her any way. He wanted to take her somewhere quiet, just the two of them, and look at her a minute. Away from them. He didn't want her and him being put to any test besides, well, her and him. He just wanted to see what would happen. But he didn't need a whole world of assholes looking over his shoulder while he did.

He wanted her to look at him. Just that. That would be enough. If Claire looked at him he would go about his day. He would look back and there would be that connection and he would know it wasn't all bullshit and then, well, maybe something else would happen, too.

*****

Claire turned back into the car, the door half open. "I'm not sure if I have a Prom Committee meeting tonight or not. If Stephanie is still sick then we're gonna bag it, because she's supposed to have the venue options researched."

"OK, sweetie, call if you need a ride. If mommy is busy I'll call the car service or a cab."

"Dad, I can take the bus."

Her father laughed. "Sure, sweetheart. You take the bus."

Claire felt a little sick. She'd taken the bus plenty of times. She had just been busy lately, plus someone usually gave her a ride and if not or—whatever. She hardly ever had the car service.

She rolled her eyes, more at herself than at her dad.

"I'll survive, Daddy. I'm not made of glass."

'Of course not, Princess. Glass is cheap. You're pure crystal."

Claire shut the door a little huffily. That wasn't true.

Of course, neither was the part about the totally fictional Prom Committee meeting or Stephanie's being sick or any of it. Claire just figured she could have some options. In case something came up.

She looked down at her jeans, flats, and sweater. The outfit was almost nondescript except that the Calvins had a faint fraying at the knee. She'd gotten them out of the bottom of her closet, having meant to throw them away. Normally she would never wear holes in her jeans.

The sweater was cashmere, but a kind of cream color, not pink. V-neck but not too low. It felt good against her skin and she hoped that someone looking at it would also think that it would feel good. Not that they could touch it.

Long chain and a pendant. Slightly darker lips than usual, but not too dark. Hair not too curled, not too set. Just a little messier than usual. Like it might have a good reason to be a little messed up.

Pathetic. How many hours spent thinking about what to wear, and you come up with jeans and a sweater and messy hair? Or maybe the pathetic part is the hours spent, not the result.

"It's ok. People think about my clothes. People look at my clothes. If I weren't careful I'd get the whole school talking and staring and I'll get enough of that anyway, probably." If she turned out to be a decent person and not the weak princess crystal cherry she and everyone else thought she was.

Claire felt sicker. She didn't think all of her friends were awful. She had fun with her friends. She didn't want to have her whole life taken away. She definitely wanted to get free of some of it but she wanted to choose some parts to keep.

Still, she also liked Allison and didn't want to do anything to hurt her, at all. That was an easy decision. Allison was interesting and different and underneath, a really, really decent person. Claire would like to be that decent. Whatever happened, she was not going to be a bitch to that girl.

Claire squared her shoulders. If she was that popular, maybe if she talked to Allison, Allison would just be this month's flavor and the whole school would be eating Captain Crunch and pixie stix sandwiches.

Yeah right. Because that would clearly make Allison so happy. Because she obviously so wanted to fit in and join Prom committee. Because her whole life was so clearly about conformity.

But if Claire couldn't make any of her own choices or influence anyone, what was the point, really, of being popular and ruling the school? If everyone knew how nervous she was about what they were thinking about how she dressed or who she talked to or what she did, she'd be eating with the geeks on a regular basis.

She took a beat. Like that would be so bad? Brian was really nice and a good friend. OK, true. But Claire had social skills and a fashion sense, and was it so wrong to sometimes want to hang out with other people who had them?

As Claire walked up the steps, cautiously looking around, waving at a few friends but not seeing anyone really central, either from before or after, she drew a few deep breaths.

And John Bender?

Claire had decided she wasn't going to even think about that anymore, what to do or how to do it or what people would say. She had come to the conclusion that trying to predict or control anything John Bender did or said or how the world would relate to him or how he would relate to her was pointless and not just that but defeated the whole point of John Bender.

Claire walked to her locker, willing her mind to be a complete blank. A few butterflies had escaped back under her skin here or there to combat the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach but really, she just needed a break from all the stuff going on in her body.

She had no idea where he usually was or what class he had first or if he even went to class. No sign of him.

That was ok. More time to get a little more normal.

All she wanted to know, was if he was still wearing the earring. All she wanted to do,

was to see him, just lay eyes on him, and see if he was still looking at her the same way.

*******

Third period and still no sign of Bender. Lunch would be next. Claire had seen Andy at what she guessed was Allison's locker and said a quick hi to them both on her way to class. If anyone noticed, no one had said anything.

She thought about asking them if they'd seen John but it made her feel weak and pathetic and nosy and so she didn't.

She was glad to see Allison still had some hair off of her face and if her eyes were darker than Claire had made them, she was wearing a cute top with her big skirt and converse. A little different, but still the same person.

Andy seemed to like her fine. Actually, Andy looked over the moon. Allison looked happy.

They got a few stares but Andy didn't even notice. He didn't have to. He was a jock. There was really something behind why he fit in and how people thought about him. If he started dating a freak, he'd still be good at wrestling and he'd still win and people would still invite him to parties. There'd never been a jock outcast in the history of time.

He wasn't like Claire. Being popular wasn't all he did with his life. Being popular wasn't the only reason he was popular.

It didn't even make any sense. But there it was.

Claire stopped by Bethany at her locker. Bethany was talking to Ruth-Ann and some other girl she'd seen at parties but couldn't quite place. Bethany smiled and checked out Claire's pendant and said something disparaging about the sub in French class. Claire knew Bethany really liked French, she'd been to the South of France over the summer and now wore her hair slicked back in a pony tail like a ballerina and sometimes wore scarves.

Bethany was one of the girls Claire really liked. She made a note to have Daddy bring back French Vogue next time he was in the city. You could get foreign magazines at some of the big newspaper stands in Chicago and Bethany would be thrilled.

"Hey, did you see Andy Clark with that girl, is she new?" Ruth-Ann wanted to know as they walked to lunch.

"Who, skirts and converse?" Bethany asked, without too much interest.

"Yeah."

"I don't know. She looks familiar but I can't place her." Bethany turned to Claire. "Hey, what happened to your jeans, did you fall or something?"

Claire couldn't believe they'd been going to school with Allison since at least seventh grade and all it took was a hair band and a jock boyfriend to make her unrecognizable. But let Claire wear jeans with the tiniest hole in the world, not so much a hole as a place where a hole might be thinking about being, and it was news within thirty seconds.

"That? Nah. I just love these jeans."

Claire didn't, particularly, but she figured that sounded better than anything else.

"So get a new pair just like them. It's not like you can't afford it, right?" Ruth-Ann's father was not quite as rich as Claire's, and Ruth-Ann was not quite as popular. Claire was not particularly fond of that girl, and she was not about to let her get over on her. Not over a stupid pair of Calvin Klein's.

Claire rolled her eyes. "Clearly. But it's not just about the money. Once you're wearing really good jeans, each pair is a little different. Plus, if you wear them, they conform to your body, so they're, like, individualized. So they're form-fitting, and look awesome, but they're totally comfortable. So why would I give that up until I had to?" She turned to Ruth-Ann a little more fully. "I mean, I'm not desperate."

Bethany seemed to consider this idea pretty seriously. "You know, that's a good point. A good pair of jeans really loves your body."

Claire laughed. "Right, so you don't want to dump them too soon, right? You want to get all the loving out of them you can, right?"

Claire and Bethany started singing, "Ooh, Calvin, I need your lovin," and almost collapsed into giggles. Ruth-Ann looked a little uncomfortable but laughed right along.

Claire was not sure what she had said really qualified as teen rebellion. She hadn't said anything about Allison but no one had said anything bad, either, because no one even knew who the hell she was and the conversation had changed quickly.

Plus, she had stood up for her jeans. Maybe that was a starting point to sticking up for her friends.

Claire felt herself blush a little at that thought and then felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She turned a little to the right and up ahead, away from her friends, and sure enough, there was John Bender, leaning up against his locker with a couple of other burnout looking kids. But John was looking right at her, face passive.

Claire felt like her knees might give out, how stupid did she look singing to her jeans in the hallway, did her friends see where she was looking? Claire wanted to crawl away into some hole and die and never come out and she was going to turn away and then Bender smiled, just a tiny, slow, corner of his lip turned up.

Claire felt herself blushing even more and she felt her face light up and she felt herself smile and look right at John Bender's eyes and for a second she could feel them burning into her, and then he nodded, just a tiny, almost invisible movement of his head, down and then up, just shaking his head back. Dead cool, dead sexy, and enough to move the hair back from his ear so she could see he had the earring on and it was the best thing that had happened to her since Saturday.

Suddenly all the butterflies were back and she thought she might float right down the hall and out of the school and she had no idea what she was doing and she had to look down. But by some superhuman effort she met his eyes again, they were still on her, and she smiled again and then flipped back her hair behind her ear, casually, so he could see, she hoped, the place on her ear where there was no earring.

And then it was over. She swore Bender was smiling a little bit more as he turned back to his friends and she turned back to her friends who were still talking about jeans and no one had noticed how she had almost floated out of the school or how she had had the most totally meaningful conversation in the middle of school hallway, all without using any words.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Help you with pudding? It's not a challenging food, Brian."

It always seems like you're leaving  
Just when I need you here just a little longer

-Violent Femmes

As John Bender strode down the hallway toward the cafeteria, his hand idly flicked a lock here or there, just to set something in motion, just to feel something a little bit cold move under his touch. He was in a much better mood than he was usually when he had to make that walk, especially on days like today when he had no lunch.

Usually on those days he would cut lunch altogether, but today he had told Skins and Brodie he had something to do, couldn't make it to the bleachers for a bowl.

He didn't have anything to do. He didn't even have anything to eat. He had no reason to go to the cafeteria besides just feeling like it.

Sure, she'd be there. But he wasn't going to bother her right now. They didn't need some big dumb lunch table drama because ooh! Bender talked to the Prom Queen. He was pretty sure they were chill at the moment, if her smile said anything—and it did, it said than most people said in a day or week—and so right now, that was enough for him. Enough for him to call this a good day. He did not want to do anything to push it. Not now. He'd made his bank and he wasn't about to bet his winnings.

But in that case John needed a little distraction, because if he spent one more minute replaying that smile in his mind and thinking about the way her blush at the sight of him went right down the V of her soft white sweater he was going to lose his fucking mind.

In need of distraction? Check. One very hopped up nerd, reporting for duty. Down the hall, Brian Johnson was doing a kind of ballet performance of casual waiting. His arms were flailing to either side, but slowly, and his hips and face would follow. "Hey, Brian!" John called out, just to see the reaction.

Brian whipped around, flustered. "Oh. Hi! You, um, yeah. I was."

John walked up and leaned against the wall across from where Brian was standing. "Exactly what I was thinking. You put that so well."

Brian was obviously pleased with the attention but turned beet red and put his hands in his pockets. He slouched one way and looked another. He defined awkward with his body and that was before he even opened his mouth. Bender liked him.

"Yeah, right. That's very funny, and . . . right. Actually, it's a funny thing, I mean, here I was, and there you are, and I was. You know, that I might see you. See, I've got this problem."

John raised his eyebrows, suggesting that Brian should continue talking until he managed to convey any information at all.

"See, my mom, it's like she's gone crazy. She's convinced, see, that I'm having this growth spurt. She's convinced I need to eat, like double. So she packed me, like, two sandwiches, and extra pudding."

John raised his eyebrows even further. "Pudding?"

"Yeah, I mean, talk about crazy, right? I mean, you saw my lunch, right? And you see me? I mean, it's not like I'm Andy, right? I mean, far from it." Brian laughed nervously. "So do you think you could help me out?"

"Help you with pudding? It's not a challenging food, Brian," Bender's lip twisted up. He'd been right. This was all kinds or entertaining.

"I know, like what does she think I am, like, ten years old?" Brian ran a nervous hand through his hair so it all stood up straight. He kept looking expectantly at Bender.

Struggling to keep an absolutely straight face, John answered slowly, "I'm afraid that I doubt your mother will find me very convincing on the subject of your portion size, Brian, but I'll be happy to take the matter up with her when next we meet."

Brian giggled. John made a note to be a little less funny the next time. The giggling was fine, but once in a day was enough.

"No, dorkus, I meant, like, can you eat it? I mean, part of my lunch? So I don't have to waste it and stuff? I hate waste, I mean, like, Africa, you know"

"Did you just call me, 'dorkus?'"

"No. I mean, no way. I mean, I value my life, right?"

"That's what I thought." John shook his head back. He didn't want the kid to think he had to pay him to get him to eat lunch with him or something. He also didn't like feeling like a charity case. But pudding and a sandwich sounded pretty good and he hated paying his own money, money that he worked for or in this case hustled for, just because his mom couldn't be bothered to give him any food or money. It wasn't like she didn't have it. She just couldn't be bothered.

Bender's face was darkening considerably at this train of thought and Brian started trembling. "Look, man, it's cool, I mean, I could just leave it for you somewhere, you know? You wouldn't have to, like—"

Bender looked up, startled. He had forgotten for a moment that the kid was even there. He was shaking and looked like he might piss his pants. At least John had taken his weed out. But still. Good kid. He hadn't meant to scare him or hurt his feelings. Not at all.

"I tell you what, brainface, how about this. I hate the fucking sloppy Joe your neighbor's dog they're serving today. So you come, with your lunch, and you meet this kid I know, he's like, an electrical whiz. He's doing the vo-tech program for electrician. But check it out: he's failing basic math. He can't graduate without it. So we go, we sit there, we eat your mother's mania, and you tell him all about your elephant problems and he tells you about his math problems. Deal?"

"Yeah! I mean, sure. That'd be, like, copasetic."

Bender swore the kid was going to start skipping.

The cafeteria was buzzing with hostility and hormones and the smell of stale meat and tomato sauce. Bender saw to his mild disappointment that Claire was sitting at her usual table with her usual stupid friends. He didn't know what he was expecting, or why it should matter to him, but he felt his mood drop a little. She didn't turn towards him, seeming deep engrossed in some bullshit conversation, no doubt.

He wanted to come here why?

Stop.

Close eyes.

"Try not to fuck this up inside your head before you even get a chance to fuck it up in person, asshole."

Deep breath. Open eyes. Lead nerd to General Electric, AKA, Kenny Nowlin. Sit at table. Ignore bemused stares.

Bender took Brian's lunch, opened it, took out a sandwich, made a big show of examining it. He cocked his head and began speaking in his best formal style,

"Kenny, Brian here," he gestured with the sandwich, "Brian has a couple of problems. One, with too much pudding, that I'm able to assist him with myself. However, Brian also has a problem with an elephant's—ass, was it?"

Brian flushed. "Um. Sort of. I had to make this light."

Kenny was surprised at Bender's lunch company but he shrugged it off. He listened to Brian try to explain his trials with the ceramic elephant and it didn't take him long to figure out several potential sources for the failure and make a plan with Brian to go to shop after school with him in exchange for some math. Bender heard Brian explain that he really shouldn't just copy the math from someone because a) it would be really obvious that Kenny hadn't done it and b) he'd need some of it so people wouldn't rip him off when he had his own business. Kenny seemed really interested and flattered that Brian just assumed he'd have his own shop someday. And as soon as Brian was talking about math, he calmed down about his social adventure and became more normal.

Bender ate half the nerd's lunch, pudding included. The pudding was really good, he liked the smooth feel of it going down his throat and as he contemplated this he took the opportunity to scan the cafeteria again. This time he noticed Allison eating at Andy's table with some other jocks. The jocks looked to be getting up to leave, so he figured he'd head over there and check out how Allison was doing and if she was doing alright he would ask Andy about cards. He asked Brian if he wanted to take a break from schooltime at lunch for a minute but Brian actually waved him away, "In a minute, man." They were deep in some discussion of circuitry.

Amazing. But Kenny was like a stupider, poorer geek with marginally better clothes and a girlfriend. It shouldn't be a surprise they could talk.

That it was a surprise just showed how much bullshit there was to cut through.

On his way to the jock table Bender studiously did not look in Claire's direction. He'd figure out some other way of catching her eye again later. If he could figure out some way of getting within three feet of her he'd give himself a medal. He wanted to stick with his resolution not to push some kind of a choice or a scene. At least wait until they'd had a conversation before they started getting everyone to play Romeo and Juliet with them. The preps and the burnouts as the Montagues and the whoevers. Freshman English was a long time ago but that play had really bugged him.

It also bugged him that Claire was never, ever alone. Probably that's what being popular meant.

Andy had spotted him and given a nod. "Hey, Sporto," Bender began. Allison looked up, smiled and nodded like she knew exactly what was up. The other jocks at the table did double-takes almost in unison, but Andy looked up in a friendly enough way, if a little wary. The others seemed to stop in mid sentence to watch the anticipated fight unfold.

"Bender. How's it hangin'?"

"Not bad. Hey listen, I'm trying to get a poker game going this weekend. Different faces, you know? New crop of givaway facial tics. You play?"

The table of jocks breathed out audibly. This was not the conversation they'd been imagining. John Bender made no secret of hating their kind and he carried a knife. It was a little disappointing not to have the fight, but it was also a relief.

Andy nodded slowly, "Sure. I've got a match Friday and Saturday morning, but I could definitely do a little poker Saturday night."

As Bender nodded in his direction he could feel Allison staring at him. He turned.

"I play poker." She leaned into his space, making her eyes go a little narrow and pointing her chin in that way that said she was telling you something private and a little bit exciting. "I kick ass."

One of the jocks, who had been obviously trying not to react to the weird company their friend was keeping, laughed at this. Allison whirled about it. "If you doubt it, why don't you cut." She whipped a deck of cards out of her bag and started shuffling like a pro. She fanned the cards out on the table and slid them back into her hand again before offering them wordlessly to the boy, who said, "Shit."

At the exact same time, Bender said, without raising an eyebrow, simply looked at her and said, "You're in."

Andy, who had been looking on like he was watching the second coming if the second coming took the form of a goth blackjack dealer, cracked up at this. "I told you guys to watch it. My girl is not to be messed with."

Bender noted the "my girl" part, and so did Allison.

"Hey, Sporto," she said, fiddling with the hem of his shirt and staring at him with a mixture of eye sex and challenge, "I'm no one's girl but mine, remember?"

Andy looked down, blushing. The dude was fucking blushing. "Ok, as long as I can borrow you sometimes.."

"Take me out for a spin?" Allison leaned over to kiss him. Every boy at the table groaned, Bender included. Andy caught his eyeroll and shrugged. "Well hey, where's-"

Bender cut him off with a warning look. Andy frowned, confused, while Allison stared at him, obviously trying to tell him something. Andy just as obviously wasn't getting it.

Bender felt himself tense. He did not want to get into some big discussion about Claire when he hadn't even said a word to her. Not in front of these shit for brains.

Then Brian comes up and says, as if on cue, the exact thing Bender was hoping no one would say.

"Hey, guys, here we are! All we need is Claire."

Bender was getting ready to strangle the nerd when Allison spoke up, a little quickly, and studiously not looking at John. "You guys just missed her. She hung out here the first part of lunch but then she had to go deal with some wardrobe emergency from one of her friends or something."

Andy nodded, getting it. "Right. You guys were talking about lipstick. Surprisingly, I wasn't really paying that much attention."

Allison laughed. "Yeah, we were wondering if maybe we could learn to put it on with our toes. We were pretty sure," and here her eyes slightly narrowed in that intense way she had, "that I could. Claire wasn't sure she could measure up. We might get together and practice."

Without beginning to understand why this small piece of information allowed his entire body to relax, John Bender decided it felt good.

If he was going to be such a girl, maybe he should practice putting on lipstick too. With his combat boots. As soon as he was done kicking himself in the ass with them. He had to stop even starting to get angry when nothing had happened and no one had done anything.

Claire was being awesome. He was being an idiot.

Lunch period was about over and the group started making their way to the door. Bender noticed they attracted more than a few pointed looks but no riots broke out. He also noticed Claire making her way toward the tray cart which prompted his sudden decision to save Brian the trip to the garbage. Brian started to protest he didn't have to, but one look at the expression on Bender's face put a stop to that.

*******

Claire had no idea when John Bender had come into the lunch room. She had already decided he wasn't coming. She knew it was after she'd talked to Allison and Andy because she'd done some pretty thorough table scanning that whole time she was over there. All she knew was that she looked up after she'd gone back to her usual table, and there was John Bender's back, sitting next to what appeared to be Brian Johnson's back, on the other side of the cafeteria, far from her and with no apparent interest.

Something bad happened to Claire's breathing. She turned back to her friends who were engaged in a heated discussion about whether being in Glee Club meant you had to be able to sing, or if it just meant people were too afraid not to let you in. Claire made a few appropriate comments but she was just on autopilot. She looked down at the frayed knee of her jeans and picked it a little more frayed.

She took a deep breath. She knew he didn't like her friends. And he had said not to worry about walking down the halls together, because it was never going to happen. She shouldn't be surprised he didn't want to talk to her in the middle of lunch in front of everone.

A part of her was even grateful to him for sparing him the drama of stopping by. If an old pair of jeans caused a whole debate, God knew what a conversation with the someone like Bender would inspire. But a bigger part just wanted him to look at her in that way, smile at her, come up to her and put his arm around her waist and kiss her very hard, in front of the whole cafeteria, and be done with it.

Wow. She didn't even know where that had come from. She was pretty sure that would be awful. Except the kissing part. There was not even one small part of Claire Standish, not a spot on a fingernail, that didn't want John Bender to kiss her again.

But she'd actually prefer a little privacy for that.

When she looked up again she saw he was gone. She turned and saw him standing over by Andy and Allison, chatting. Claire was relieved and jealous at the same time. She turned to her friends, "Glee Club means you can sing—unless you're, like, really popular. Then it just means you're popular. And you might sing, but it's beside the point."

Claire had no idea what she was even saying. She was glad John couldn't didn't, either. She didn't think he'd be impressed. Even though she'd turned her back to him again, now she could swear she felt his eyes on her and it made her feel pinned, like a butterfly under glass. She felt like she couldn't move, didn't want to move while his eyes were on her. Her mouth kept moving and sound was coming out. "Seriously. Mrs Layton knows who's, you know, like us. She went here, like, with my mom, and they were kind of like us. She knows you kinda need music for some of those colleges and so she lets us do Glee Club because she knows we don't have time to be some practicing nerd. My mom told me."

Bethany nodded. Some of the other girls looked surprised. Claire didn't pay even a little attention because she had turned so could see John Bender straightening up and still looking in her direction, though not obviously staring. Claire got up too. She grabbed Bethany's tray. "Here, I'll take that. I've got some stuff from my purse I need to throw away. I don't even know how it all gets there, you know?"

Bethany smiled. "Cool. Maid service. Thanks!"

Claire laughed, looking back, which was also the same direction John Bender was in. As she explained to Bethany that her services did not come without a price and she totally accepted credit cards, she tried to catch John's eye but he was saying something to Brian, who had joined the group. Surprising.

Whatever. She could hardly blame him if he didn't figure out that she was hoping he had some trash or something. He probably didn't even have lunch. Claire felt a little sad as she made her way to the tray cart. She didn't know why she was so lame and she didn't know why she hadn't gone up to say hi to Brian and the rest of them or why she of all people was so shy. She rested the tray on the side of the trash can and slowly tossed the mostly uneaten lunch.

Suddenly she felt someone lean slightly into her and push her slightly to one side. She didn't need to turn to know who it was. A quiet, taunting voice seemed to brush against her, "Oh, excuse me, Princess," it said.

Claire still didn't turn around. "Actually, I'm pretty sure there's no excuse for you," she said quietly, but her mouth curved up a little when she said it. She still didn't turn around but she didn't move to one side either, keeping her body firmly in place so that it stayed in contact with John's, just barely returning the gentle pressure. Every single place that their bodies were touching tingled and fluttered as if all the butterflies from before had suddenly returned and raced over to that side. She was hardly aware of anything else. Except without even looking at him, she could feel, it was like she could hear John smiling in that slow, knowing way at her response. He didn't move away either but shifted his weight slightly, not really closer or further away but just enough so that the weight of him brushed against her again, making the connection just a little bit more alive. He reached over to grab a left-over apple from the tray she was holding, bringing his mouth momentarily closer to her ear.

"You know, you're probably right about that." He bumped into her again, softly, and backed away, still without making eye contact. "Most people are smart and give up trying."

To his surprise, Claire turned and faced him. They were still pretty close together but anyone looking on might have thought she'd gotten all huffy. "You know, if you really wanted an apple, they do sell them. You didn't have to come all the way over here," she gestured toward the apple in his hand, "for that." Her words, again, sounded a little bitchy but there was a warm undercurrent to them and a note of something soft in her voice which combined with the way she glancing toward him but through her long lashes made something hitch in John's chest.

He looked right back at her, taking a beat. "You know, what I really was more in the mood for was," and he looked her briefly up and down, "a cherry, but I'll take what I can get."

Claire raised her head and looked straight at him for the briefest moment. "You know, if I were you—which thank God I'm not, by the way—I wouldn't take any substitutes for what I really wanted. If you want it badly enough, it might be worth waiting for." She turned and put the tray in the cart.

Bender could feel himself frozen in place by the garbage and hoped to hell no one was looking at him because if they were, it would be like he had an enormous neon sign over his head that said "Desperate for that chick right there."

Claire glanced over her shoulder and could see John still standing there turning that stupid apple in his hand, his face frozen into that shocked, hot expression like the one he'd had when she kissed him in the closet on Saturday. She bit her lip to suppress a smile, aware that it didn't quite work. She saw John draw in a breath a little suddenly. "Score one for the princess," she said to herself. She turned away and walked out the door without looking back.

John wasn't sure he'd ever be able to move again. He made a show of digging through his pockets looking for something. That girl had zinged him respectably and then called him out on something and then he was sure held out a promise to him of something undefined and indescribable and she did it while throwing away garbage, in front of everyone, without anyone seeing and he was so far gone. He was so far gone and he didn't even care, all he knew was she hadn't moved away when he'd bumped into her, she had pushed back, and pushed back in more ways than one and that challenge in her eyes was hotter than her lips and then she had bitten her lip and looked at him and he knew right then that if he didn't get his mouth on those lips by the end of the day the world was going to crumble and burn until there wasn't anything left of it but John Bender's ashes, still wanting to kiss that girl.

He snorted. I'm done. Finished. Here lies John Bender. He finally turned around to where almost everyone was gone but Andy and Allison were still standing by the door, looking at him and obviously laughing. He was with them in three strides.

"Not a word, Clark. Not a fucking word."

Andy couldn't help laughing. "I didn't say anything."

Bender snorted and looked at Allison pointedly, then back at Andy. "Yeah, like you're one to not say anything."

Andy nodded in embarrassment. "Point taken, man. I gotta run." He took off, leaving Allison and Bender to walk more slowly down the hall.

"Claire wants me to go lipstick shopping with her after school."

John turned to Allison in surprise. "Funny, she didn't ask me if I wanted to go lipstick shopping."

Allison hit him kind of hard in the arm. "She told me, she wanted something a little different. She thought I could help with that." Allison gave him that significant secrets look, but softly.

John nodded. "I can definitely see where she would think that." He snorted sarcastically. It was like he couldn't help himself. "And lipstick is obviously so important when you really want to make a change."

Allison turned into her locker and then turned right at him, her eyes like daggers.

"Don't underestimate people like that, John Bender. They could surprise you."

John stared at her, nodding. "Trust me. They already have."

"Then maybe it's time to wonder what you are going to do to surprise them back."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire stared. "Purple? Me?"  
> "It depends on how different you want to be. If you want to feel really different, you can call it purple. If you want to ease into it, you can think of it as 'lavender.'"  
> Claire thought a minute. "You're right. Lavender sounds much more likely."

just a little longer . . .

-Violent Femmes

 

After chem. class, Claire and Bethany and some other girls met for the obligatory 6th period bathroom break. Lipstick, mascara check, boy stories, party news. Who was in, who was out, who needed to learn a lesson. Cigarettes out the window for some of the daring ones.

Ruth-Ann had news. She'd been giggling with Margot in the halls and it looked good. Claire started. "So spill, ladies."

"OK." Ruth-Ann looked pleased to have the floor. All eyes were on her. "So. We figured out who that Andy Clark's been scamming on all day. The one we thought might be a new girl but looked like you'd seen her before?"

Claire made a show of looking carefully at her eyes in the mirror to avoid responding. All right. This is it. How much of a bitch are you, Claire Standish?

Everyone else was looking expectantly at Ruth-Ann.

"So check it out. That is Allison Reynolds."

Bethany was impressed. "Allison excuse me while I freak my 9th grade homeroom teacher out so bad she has to get a shrink Reynolds?"

Margot nodded. "Yep. Allison so freaky the bag ladies run from me downtown Reynolds."

All the girls were laughing now. Claire was putting on lipstick.

Ruth-Ann flipped her hair. "So we're trying to think, what is frickin Andy Clark thinking? He could have, like, so many normal girls."

Claire turned around. "Like you, right?"

Ruth-Ann snorted. "Not any more. He probably has, like, diseases now. Because he's clearly with her because she puts out much faster. Girls like that do it because they're desperate for attention, they think it'll make boys like them."

Margot chimed in. "Yeah. Because putting out for dudes always like, gets them to respect girls so much. Especially the getting pregnant part. Or giving them the clap."

"Or even just lice."

"Eew. Do you think you can get lice, like, down there?"

Gathering her books, Claire made to leave. She could feel her face getting hot. Maybe she could get out of this by just not joining in and she could practice being more brave later. Why couldn't she just tell them off? Was she totally a failure at decency?

But Ruth-Ann wasn't having any of it. "So, Claire, would you let Clark near you after bagging that freakazoid?"

She couldn't stand that Ruth-Ann girl.

"Like I'd let Clark near me anyway. I think wrestling is weird."

Great. You're winning prizes for bravery now. Instead of sticking up for your one friend, you're insulting the other. Claire imagined Bender staring at her with that look of disgust he had like when he talked about her house and her friends and her lunch. She could picture all of them staring at her the way they had when she said she thought they'd all go back to normal on Monday. And here she was doing it.

She took a deep breath. "I don't know. It's pretty lame if you ask me. I mean, how could you not recognize Allison? I mean, she went to parties and stuff in seventh grade. And we see her every day."

Ruth-Ann looked at Claire in disbelief. She snorted. "Not if I can help it. I might turn into stone." The whole bathroom laughed. Ruth-Ann sensed the advantage and went on. "And anyway, she went to, like two dances when were in middle school and that means we should be, like, best friends now because she has no social skills and doesn't wash her hair?"

Claire shrugged. "I don't know. She looks ok to me. Maybe she wants to make a change."

Ruth-Ann rolled her eyes. "Oh my God! I'm so sorry! I didn't realize she was your new best friend. But you might want to talk to her about, you know, trying to change so much just so some boy will like you. I mean, I would never change my look like that just to try to get some dude to stick around after he bagged me."

Bethany laughed. "I don't know. You might if you looked like that." Bethany put her hair over her eyes and slunk back into a big hunched slouch and tried to peer through her bangs.

Claire caught herself smiling. It wasn't like Allison hadn't looked kind of like that. It wasn't like she'd been trying to fit in. It's not like she could be surprised if people noticed and thought it was weird.

"Ok, dudettes. Whatever. She looks cute. Better looking hallways. Jock is happy. Wins match. Where's your school spirit?" Claire stood poised by the door, looking back and waiting.

Bethany laughed. "Right. Allison Reynolds in a headband. It's like . . . cleaning up garbage from the halls."

Claire felt sick. And Bethany was her best friend. "Are we done here? I've gotta book."

As soon as they were gone, a pair of converse appeared under one of the stall doors. The door swung open. Allison walked up to the sinks and turned on the water. She peered at herself in the mirror. Her eyes looked a little red and were smudged at the edges with running mascara. She wet a paper towel and blotted off the black. She kept looking at herself for a few moments, then left.

As soon as she got out of the girls' room, Claire ditched her friends, lying, saying she left her homework in her locker. Bethany offered to wait but Claire told her not to be late. They didn't have the same class anyway. As soon as she was gone, Claire grabbed a notebook and a pencil and started scribbling a note.

"I don't know what you have last period so I didn't know where 2 find you. I have 2 stay after for a few 2 talk 2 a club advisor but I still want 2 go. Meet me Nelson's Drugs 20 min. after the bell, or if that's not chill leave me a note in my locker, no. 2417. Later! C."

She fastwalked to where she thought she remembered having seen Allison at some point, not like she'd been paying much attention. Sure enough, there was a locker rimmed in black marker with the words WATCH YOUR BACK carefully penned in block letters.

"I'm thinking that one," Claire thought, half smiling to herself.

Claire folded the note carefully in quarters and wrote Allison on the top. She dotted the i with a little circle and made the circle into a flower. She shoved it through the slots and turned the lock sideways and backwards in what was the school signal for "open with care." She hoped Allison would know to look. She didn't know if she was "in" enough to know the note signal. Claire turned and ran, already late for class. She didn't see Allison behind her, peering from behind a doorway.

******

John Bender had gone to every class that day. He did his chem homework during algebra and turned it in the next period. He just couldn't be bothered to get in trouble that day, he had to figure out some way of seeing that girl or at least talking to her for a minute when they weren't in front of the entire school not to mention entire school's garbage.

At the bell he made straight for that chick Allison's locker, barely pausing for a few high fives. On the way he saw Carl getting ready to push his broom and gave him a "What's up, man?" but he didn't stop to bullshit like he would have liked. He had to find Allison because weird as she was, she was at least a chick and she was going to see Claire and she had to have more of a clue than he did.

Allison was at her locker gazing at a piece of notebook paper. She turned it over in her hand. John saw her smile, and then start shoving books and papers randomly into her bag, clutching the piece of paper under her arm. Her hair was still out of her eyes and her lips were all shiny.

John leaned against the locker next to her. He looked her sideways.

Allison threw the rest of her books into her bag and threw it over her shoulder. "So." She said. "Poker."

Bender nodded but didn't speak. He kept looking at her, his stare gaining a little in intensity.

Allison grabbed the paper from under her arm and held it in her hand, meeting John's stare for a minute. Then she crooked a smile.

"All right. I've gotta take off. It's been real." Allison turned as if to go, stifling a laugh.

"Allison!" John didn't move but his voice sounded frustrated and a little threatening and a little pleading.

She looked back at him with an exaggerated question on her face.

John kept his eyes on her but could feel his face heating up. He looked down. "C'mon," he mumbled, not meeting her eyes.

Allison sighed and shifted her bag. She held up the paper in her hand but just out of his reach. "C'mon, what?"

"Oh Fuck me. Gimme a break!"

He looked up at Allison. He saw the same steady stare, now with raised eyebrows. Slight smile. Not a flinch.

John rolled his eyes and hammered the locker lightly with his fist. "Please."

Allison's smile broke large. She let the paper fall to the floor, her eyes staying on John. "Oops. I dropped that piece of paper I found in my locker. Oh, well. If you had any school spirit, you might pick up that garbage in the halls."

She turned and walked away. Halfway down the hall, she turned back for a second look. John Bender hadn't moved. He was still staring at the paper on the ground. Allison rolled her eyes.

Someone walked by and a rush of air brushed the paper a few feet into the center of the corridor, right in the flow of traffic. Slamming himself up from the locker, Bender made for it, his large frame reaching it in a single move and catching its edge roughly in his hands. He glanced at it, then crumpled it into a ball and shoved it in his pocket. He walked quickly down the hall, passing Allison on his way.

"Thanks," he muttered, without so much as turning in her direction.

Claire had dropped off some student survey ideas for the Prom committee with Mrs Levinson. Mrs Levinson was the committee advisor, and she was going to type them up and distribute them to the student body. Fifties' theme or contemporary? Cabana style décor or new wave?

It was time to ask the really important questions.

Claire lingered a little, paying extra careful attention to a discussion of the survey format until Mrs Levinson smiled over her glasses, saying, "Claire, dear, you're so thorough. It's really such a pleasure to work with you."

Claire blushed, which she figured was becoming, like, her new hobby, and turned to go. "Well, you know. I just want everything to go smoothly."

Actually, she couldn't care less.

She left the school ten minutes into the early activity period and the halls were almost deserted. On the school steps she noticed with a relief she couldn't place that it was colder out than it had been this morning. She put up the hood on her jacket, something she probably hadn't done since she was twelve, and headed off in the direction of Nelson's.

Claire saw Allison just inside the door and picked up her pace. In the door, she unzipped and shook her hood off, shaking her hair out in the process. "Oh my God, when did it get so cold?" she demanded, of no one in particular.

"I kind of like it," Allison confessed, and then with a self-conscious smirk, "more clothes to hide in, I guess."

The girls smiled at each other for a moment in silence. Claire felt shy. But, remembering that she was the one who was Miss Social Skills 1985, she spoke first.

"Well, it didn't look like you were hiding today. At least not from Andy."

Allison looked down and scuffed her foot against a newspaper rack.

Claire put out her hand and touched Allison's sleeve gently. "Hey. You look awesome. Not like you looked so awful before or anything," she added quickly, "but you look really pretty with your hair back. You have beautiful eyes."

Allison looked up. "People were talking, huh?"

"Well, duh. What else do they do? But do you care?"

"Do you think Andy cares? I mean, that people talk about seeing him with me?"

Claire laughed in surprise. Allison seemed really perceptive but that answer was totally obvious. "Um, Allison, did you notice who was with you every single free second of his day and who didn't leave your side or stop looking at you like he was some kind of baby puppy even in front of all his jock friends?"

Now it was Allison who blushed. "I just don't want him to be embarrassed."

Claire patted Allison's parka again. "Trust me. If he could see himself, he'd have plenty of reason to be embarrassed, but it wouldn't be because of you. I think my grandma would say "gobsmacked."

Allison wrinkled her nose. "That's a funny word."

"Well, it's a funny thing. C'mon. Let's get crazy with the lipstick."

Claire showed Allison how to blend the testers on the back of her hand and her fingertips to give a sense of what the color would look like on. Then, if there was one that looked like a serious possibility, you could wipe off the tip really thoroughly and try some on your lips, but if you did that too many times, you wouldn't get a good sense of what the color was like because your lips would be stained no matter what you did. For the same reason, work from light to darker shades.

"You know, I had no idea there was so much to this," Allison said, looking critically at a deep red on her hand.

Claire nodded, laughing. "It's a real commitment." She paused, looking at the back of her hand. She groaned in frustration. "God, there I go again. Did I not tell you I wanted to get something different? But look at my hand! It's all pinks and neutrals. It's like I read something in a magazine once that said that's what redheads should wear and it became, like, my internal law or something." She shook her head. "I so suck at being different."

Allison gestured at the red on her own hand, looking questioningly toward Claire.

Claire smirked and shook her head. "No. I want to look different, not awful. Redheads really can't go near red. You, though, you could wear any shade of red you wanted. You've got that beautiful Snow White coloring."

"Maybe that's why little birds are always following me around whistling whenever I try to do any work," said Allison with a completely straight face.

Claire's lips were firmly pursed, causing to her snort loudly out of her nose. This in turn set off such loud giggles from both girls that the owner of the store came around the corner of the aisle to see if there was trouble.

"We're good. We're sorry. Don't worry. I'm totally buying stuff. You know I'm good for it." The old man rolled his eyes and nodded.

Claire straightened her face and looked at Allison with a great deal of concern. "How are you going to tell Andy about the dwarfs?"

Allison looked at Claire in mock horror, and both girls dissolved in silent laughter. Still shaking, Allison darted down to a different display center and came back with a new tube. She opened it to reveal a deep black and looked the question to Claire.

"Um, I want to look different, not dead."

Allison shrugged. "Dead's a look. Trust me." She thought a moment. "Listen. That thing you said. About red and redheads and whatever. I may not do lipstick like this but I do paint. So if I think of you as a painting, I think I might do your lips in," she paused to study Claire with a serious, appraising look. She turned to the tester rack and grabbed a selection of deeper and lighter shades of purple, "one of these."

Claire stared. "Purple? Me?"

"It depends on how different you want to be. If you want to feel really different, you can call it purple. If you want to ease into it, you can think of it as 'lavender.'"

Claire thought a minute. "You're right. Lavender sounds much more likely."

She laughed at herself. "So maybe I'll get them all and work my way through them. See, Allison, the thing is, if I do something different, everyone notices it right away. And it's like, a discussion. Like today, I wore these jeans that are a tiny bit older and more worn than what I usually would wear. And like, we practically had to have a formal debate. You have no idea."

Allison considered. "I don't know, you said people were talking about me today, because I looked different."

Claire was growing more self-conscious but decided that she was going to be as honest as she possibly, possibly could. She spoke carefully.

"Well, that's true. They were. But that's partly because you were with Andy, and that, frankly, was really different. And people already pay attention to him because he's a star jock and was you know, single. And partly, you looked, you know, a lot different, because you were wearing a cute little top and your hair out of your eyes, and a different style of make up—and really, because you looked happy—anyway, people didn't even, honestly, know who you were at first."

Allison was very quiet. "Huh."

Claire could hardly look at her. "Really. And that was really stupid, because we've been going to the same school for, like, ever, even if we weren't hanging out." She took a deep breath. "Listen, Allison, some of those people, who are my friends and stuff, they might be some of the ones who would say really bitchy things. I know that. But, like, they are my friends. I can't just drop them because they do or say dumb stuff or like, I don't like how they think. I mean, it would be a different kind of bitchy to drop them just because I suddenly decide I think they're messed up when I never said anything before. I don't know. Do you know what I mean?"

"Huh. I didn't really think about it like that before, but I don't really have friends. "

Claire said very, very seriously. "Yes you do. I am totally your friend. I mean, I want to be. I mean, I'm letting you in on all my lipstick shopping secrets. Ruth-Ann Daniels might kill for this information."

Allison snorted. "She'll never get it out of me."

"I know. You can really stand up to the pressure. But also, I don't think you would just drop me because I did a dumb thing, or even a lot of dumb things, right? Because I'm trying, right? I mean, obviously, we're different. You might actually wear the black lipstick."

Allison nodded. "It could come to that."

Claire took a deep breath. "So we're different and think different stuff but you wouldn't drop me, just because I did a bad thing, or wasn't, you know, as strong or as decent as you? But just know, if people are saying stuff, I'm not one of them. I just, I mean, I have to start with lavender, you know?"

Allison spoke deadly evenly. "I don't expect you to be my champion or my knight in shining armor, if that's what you mean. And honestly, just because I wear a headband doesn't mean I care what all your bitchy friends think."

Claire could feel the sting of this remark but she could feel the hurt behind it more. She spoke quietly and seriously, too. "I know. I don't care what all of them think, either. I mean, some of them are my friends really. They have their really good points. Some of them I'm friends with just because being friends with them is so much better than being enemies."

Allison nodded. "I get it. I really do get that. And no, I wouldn't just drop you. I might tell you what I think. Like right now. Right now, I really think you should consider," she paused, taking a deep breath, "new lip gloss, too."

Claire breathed a sigh of relief at a return to a lighter topic. Allison was really, really cool.

As the girls left the store, small bags in hand, they each took a minute to adjust. They looked around, then at each other, and smiled in a secret way. Allison did a double take, then gestured with her head across the street.

A lone figure in a long coat stood leaning against a wall. The coat was open and he was slouched into it. A scarf hung around his neck. His eyes were focused on the ground as he brought a cigarette to his lips. Claire's stomach did fifty back flips and then froze, like every other part of her body seemed to do on cue. Then it all started humming.

She would have thought about getting a grip but she couldn't even come up with pronouns.

Allison led her gently from the door and steered her gently across the crosswalk. Claire was busy reminding herself to breath. Everything in the world seemed to take on just a little more edge. She was aware of Allison's reminding nudge and kept walking, hand clutching tightly to her bag.

John Bender was across the street. She was going to meet him. There was no one else around. John Bender's eyes were on her every step of the way. She could feel them burning into her hear, burning across her chest, and when she lifted her eyes to meet his she saw white and then black and she had to turn away so she didn't stop in the middle of the street.

The girls stopped in front of him and Claire looked at him again. His dark eyes were staring at her and his mouth had that knowing, slightly arrogant smile as he watched her look at him and Claire had to remind herself that they were still in the world, on a street, near stores.

"So," she said, her gaze still fixed on him, "What are you doing? Honing your loitering skills?"

John fixed her with a look and said in a knowing tone, "Waiting," with a tone of, "are you dense?" as if it should be perfectly obvious. Which it was.

Claire knew her lips curved up and knew she bit them, tasting the new slick of lip gloss, and knew that he had said the absolute perfect thing and knew that he could see in her face that he had.

He could see that. His shoulders relaxed a fraction. It was almost imperceptible. "Score one for the burnout," he thought. He could get good at this.

"So," said John, taking a last drag of his cigarette before flicking it into the gutter, "new color palette?"

Claire laughed. She couldn't help herself. The words "color palette" coming out of John Bender's mouth broke some kind of universal law. She straightened her expression as best she could and nodded, seriously. "And gloss."

"Gloss," John repeated, seeming to consider but making it clear that he found this absurd.

Allison nodded emphatically. "Flavored gloss," she added.

John turned to her, having completely forgotten Allison was even on the same planet with them. "Flavored?" he said, obviously with sharper interest.

Claire nodded and touched her lip slightly with her tongue and then bit where she had touched and then rubbed gently where she had bitten with the side of her finger, drawing John's attention firmly back to her face. The word "flavored" bounced softly around the image of her lips he'd been carrying in his mind since he'd seen her at lunch and collided with the reality in front of him, the reality of her tongue and teeth and hand on her mouth and he didn't really understand anything that was happening around him. He felt his breath in his chest and was idly surprised there was room for it. He hoped no one could see how hard it was. To breathe.

"A variety of flavors," explained Allison . "Both of us. We might trade off."

John couldn't move his eyes off Claire. He managed a slow nod. He was pretty sure Claire had licked her lips and thought about him at the same time. He thought it was pretty lucky he was already leaning against the wall.

Claire felt her skin burning and felt John Bender's stare from the bottoms of her feet to the roots of her hair and worked hard not to lick her lips again. She could hear the sound of his breath and that its rhythm was changing and getting a little faster. He was looking at her like she had imagined and hoped for and it didn't leave room inside her for anything else. She had to look down again.

Allison looked at them and rolled her eyes. "Well, you know, my elephants are totally overgrown into my steamships so I'll be off now."

"See you," said John and Claire, almost in unison.

Allison walked off, her whole body shaking with laughter.

John's eyes moved down from Claire's lips to her sweater. Claire edged a little closer to him without even meaning to and raised her eyes to meet his again. She let one corner of her lip turn up and noticed how the way his hair hung down over his dark eyes as they met hers and darted down her body and then met hers again made her feel parts of her body she never even knew existed.

"Did Allison just say something about elephants?" Claire wanted to know.

"I have absolutely no fucking idea," nodded John.

His eyes not leaving her face, he reached a hand out and touched the bottom of her sweater, running it softly between his fingers. It was incredibly soft. He left his hand there, not touching Claire, just her sweater, just barely.

"Jesus. What is this made of?"

Claire looked at him steadily, forcing herself to keep a straight face.

"It's called cashmere."

John nodded. "Coincidence it has the word cash in it?"

"Maybe not." She smiled shyly but shook her head a little, dislodging his hand. "Most people like it, though."

Putting his hand back on the sweater, this time stroking it gently up and down with the back of his knuckle, he allowed his hand to put a little pressure through the sweater, and then let it drop. He looked where his knuckle had been and up at Claire again. "Did I say I didn't like it?"

Claire nodded her head slowly up and down and said, "no."

John chuckled and shook his head. Claire had broken the tension enough that he could move a little more freely. He bumped her slightly with his large frame, and then turned down the street. "It's cold. Let's walk."

From looking at the ground, Claire had noticed four or five cigarette butts around where John had been standing. Even chain smoking, that meant he'd been there a while. She turned her hood up for the second time that day. It was a little cold, after all.

They walked down the street, neither really speaking, neither really able to speak. John didn't take her hand but he let his brush up against hers every few steps, just barely, and Claire found this took up her entire consciousness. She would wait for it to happen and then it would happen and his skin would be next to hers and then it would be over and she would be waiting again. John was desperate to find some way, somewhere to get alone with this girl, this was an improvement but they were still in the middle of the fucking street.

They came to an alcove of a storefront that had been closed for renovations. Bingo. Muttering, "let's get out of the wind a minute," John grabbed her sleeve and pulled her gently off the street, guiding her firmly into a corner more fully sheltered from the street and wind.

Now he did take her hand. He flashed to the last time their hands had touched, when she'd been putting that earring in his hand and closing her own hands around it. This time, with her other hand, she reached up and pushed the hair back from his ear. He slowly rubbed the side of her hand with her thumb.

"So. What flavor lip gloss did you choose, cherry?" His touch on her hand was very sweet but his voice still had that taunting sound. It still made her a little dizzy.

She looked John dead in the eye. "I guess that's for me to know and you—to find out."

The challenge in her eye completely undid him for the second time but he was going to go slow if it killed him. He brought his mouth down close to hers, and then on it, gently. His lips brushed hers, sliding against the slick surface, then with a little more pressure. Then his tongue, gently. He couldn't believe what he tasted.

He drew back and saw her open her eyes to look at him, half shy, half knowing. Cherries. She tasted like cherries. She had bought a goddamn lip gloss flavored like the name he'd given her to make fun of her and turned it into an invitation just for him. He had no fucking idea what to say.

Now it was Claire who let her fingers fiddle with his scarf. "Well? Do you have a guess?" He had that look again, his eyes were wide, like he was getting something he didn't know to ask for. Like when she first walked into that janitor's closet. Everything she had imagined or worried about all day long seemed like nothing compared to that.

John managed to get words out, but his voice was trembling. "I don't like to guess. I like to be sure."

Claire shrugged. "Well," she pretended to hesitate, "we do have a tutoring service for the impaired—" but John Bender's mouth cut her off. She knew to make it easier for him by joking but he could feel her trembling under his touch. He had never wanted anything so much in his entire life as he wanted his mouth on hers at that moment. He put his hand on her waist and his mouth on her lips just like he'd been thinking about all day and he felt his lips slide on hers again, the gloss making them soft and slick and then it was just sliding, cherries, soft pressure, sliding and returning. His lips were buzzing. He took her bottom lip in his mouth a little ways and she groaned, just slightly.

John drew breath harder at the groan and edged his hand around her back, over the sweater but under the coat. He put his other hand gently by her chin, pulling her further toward him. Claire felt him open his mouth a little more and then felt him run his tongue along her lips, back and forth, gentle, like a massage, pulling her mouth into his with the hand caressing her jaw and neck. A little shyly, Claire opened her mouth. John moaned slightly at this and relaxed more into the kiss and Claire could feel the vibration from the moan on her mouth. She loved that, and relaxed a little. She let John's tongue into her mouth and she pushed back a little with her own. And that. Was amazing. And then it was lips and tongue and she was grabbing onto his scarf pulling him a little closer so she could feel the weight of his body on hers. He wrapped his arm all the way around her.

Her sweater felt amazing and he wanted to put his hand under it and feel it and her skin but he didn't. She let him into her mouth and he made her moan and she was learning how to kiss. On him. With cherries. And that thought made him moan and then she met his tongue with hers, rubbing it all along. He wanted to put his hands all over her then, and make her moan more, but he was not going to. He was not going to push. She had gotten cherry lip gloss and trusted him and no one, no one had, no one who had so much reason not to. He broke the kiss and took her face in his hands and kissed her on her eyes. Then he put his lips right by her ear and murmered softly, "Claire Standish, I have been thinking about you all fucking day."

That was definitely the first time he had ever said anything even remotely like that to anyone and he thought the world might swallow him whole.

To his shock, although he didn't know what kind of response he was expecting, because he wasn't expecting anything because that would mean he had planned to say something like that instead of keeping his cool, to his shock, she put her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. She was hugging him and pressing up against him everywhere. Then she let go and kissed his neck like she had the first time.

She took his hand and stroked it gently with her manicured, pink-tipped fingures. She turned those challenging eyes up on him and smiled. "I knew you couldn't ignore me if you tried," she said.

Bender laughed out loud. He was sure he had never felt better in his entire life.

She pulled him out toward the street. "I have to go. I've got mondo trig homework. Walk me to the bus?"

"Bus?' asked Bender, in a big show of shock, "Oh, is there a special princess bus service I should know about?"

Claire shook her head. "Nope. Regular city bus. My parents will have me fumigated when I get home."

"They allow busses into your neighborhood?"

"Well, just a few blocks out. That's why I want to be home before dark."

Bender nodded and took her hand, putting it in his pocket with his. He reached up and put her hood over her head. "It's getting cold."

Claire wanted to hug him.

They walked on until they reached the bus stop, which Bender cursed because the bus was just down the street. He released her hand and ran his own through his hair. This was the hard part. He wanted more time. He didn't have anywhere to take a girl like this. Claire stood next to him, staring straight ahead. As the bus pulled up, she said, not looking at him and sounding mildly annoyed, "I can't sleep at night because of thinking about you so much." She shook her head regretfully. "Now it'll probably be even worse. You should really be more considerate of others."

John stared at her in disbelief. "You bitch. Now you know how bad I want to kiss you again and you're leaving!"

Claire laughed and got on the bus, turning on the second step. "See you tomorrow, John Bender," and she gave a little wave.

John made a big show of half-waving and looking at her in mock fury. As the bus pulled away, though, he just looked. That girl had his number in an amazing fucking way.

Alone again he slumped against the bus shelter and hit his head back into it. He had totally forgotten to ask for her number and had no idea how to get to see her tomorrow. He really needed to take her somewhere that wasn't the cafeteria garbage. He really needed to know about the other lipgloss flavors. He'd better win at poker this weekend. He didn't even have Allison's number. Fuck. he thought. So much fucking trouble.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had the prom queen not only blushing but misbehaving. It was like he'd died and gone to a special heaven for John Benders.

Little voice says I'm going crazy . . .

-Violent Femmes

The look on John Bender's face as turned back to wave was pretty much priceless and Claire would have liked to put it in a locket or blackmail him with it or maybe both.

But then, all the way home on the bus, Claire thought about other things. She thought of the way John Bender had looked at her after tasting her lips and replayed the way his lips and mouth and tongue had felt. She thought of him waiting all that time for her outside the pharmacy in the cold, smoking cigarette after cigarette and maybe feeling nervous. She thought of his face at lunch, and in the hall, she thought of his voice and the feel of his breath as he whispered in her ear.

She let her body fall against the cold metal of the bus and her head fall sideways against the window glass so she could feel the vibrations of the road in her skull. Her eyes lazed across the suburban landscape as lawns got larger and more manicured and cars got shinier. Clutching her paper bag, she wondered if her mom would lecture her again for wasting time and money on drug store brands when she had spared no expense and nagged her father so Claire could have the charge account at Saks' and purchase the quality cosmetics that wore longer and were so much better for the skin and included the cost of a consultant to match skin tones and types and blah, blah, blah.

Whose teen rebellion was summed up by shopping at a drug store? Whose parents complained when they didn't spend enough money?

Claire fingered her sweater. I guess Mom and Dad really do put the cash in cashmere. She hadn't really thought before, how much those sweaters cost. But running over in her mind John's fingers running over the sweater and how that had felt, his fingers not quite touching her skin, she thought she might have paid double.

But if they knew whose fingers had been on that sweater, and what use she'd put the drug store cherry lip gloss to, and what use John Bender had put it to, her parents might have cut her off. Claire smiled and ran her finger over her lips. Allison had been so right. The flavored lip gloss had been a really good idea. Claire had thought it was so seventh grade but the look on John's face after he first tasted it was probably worth the price of her Saks charge card if it came to that.

She wondered how he'd come to be there, waiting on the sidewalk for her with his gaze and his smokes and his hands. Had Allison told him to come? Had he asked Allison how to find her? Had it been his idea? Why didn't she have Allison's number? She would have loved to call her when she got home.

Home. Oops. Claire looked around. She was clearly near her neighborhood but she was pretty sure she had gone past the stop. It had been a while, it was true, since she took the bus. She pulled on the cord for the next stop. Her father would kill her for walking home from the bus after dark. Or maybe he'd just laugh. Claire laughed a little. Teen rebellion part two: took bus home, refusing private driver.

She was a rebel all right.

Not for the first time that day, Claire found herself wondering if John would laugh or sneer at her "lavender rebellion." She wondered if he knew what she wouldn't even admit to herself, that she was wearing her hood on the street after school because she wasn't sure she wanted to be seen with the very people who filled her thoughts and fueled her hopes. And if he knew that made her feel a little sick, to think that about herself, that she was doing that and being that person even while trying not to be. He helped her put her hood on. How much did John Bender get her?

It wasn't like she was ashamed. She was kind of proud of her new friends, she thought they were cool and interesting but part of that was that they were a little separate from her public life. And her life was so public. She just didn't want to deal with having the fact that she went shopping with Allison or walked for three blocks with John Bender be the major topic of conversation with all her friends and people who weren't her friends. She was just learning to know them and all that bullshit was so much pressure.

That was mostly it. She just wanted to have her new life and new friends be a little bit private. That was mostly it, and anything else she was feeling that led her to pull her hood up or hang around after school before meeting Allison or look like she wasn't talking to John Bender or kissing John Bender when it was all she thought about doing, any feeling like that was bad and she hated it and she was trying to not feel it but she wasn't perfect. Old feelings and habits die hard and she would just have to do something. Something to make up for it.

*******

As Claire got off the bus and walked slowly past the few cute "shoppes" by the bus stop, then the mansions, the BMWs and sculpted bushes, and climbed the back way up the hill to her house, her heart was a little heavier. How had she gotten to the point of worrying whether she was worthy of John Bender? But here she was. Not afraid she wasn't worthy of him exactly, but wanting to live up to the version of herself he seemed to see when he looked at her like that, like when his voice trembled and his hands shook slightly. John stood up to everyone. He might like to see her do a little bit more than wear an old pair of jeans and sneak out to see her friend when she could be sure no one was looking.

Rounding the corner to her house and heading up the long landscaped path to the door, a smile ghosted across her face. He might have to wait for her to be really stand-up and he might have to wait for . . . other things. He'd said he was waiting. He'd said that. She wouldn't put a guess on just how long he'd want to wait around—for anything. But she felt like she could come up with a few ideas so that at least his waiting wasn't boring.

As John Bender walked the many blocks back to his house he felt like the world probably didn't hold enough nicotine to calm his nerves. He could always smoke a bowl but he'd figured that day he wanted to feel all those feelings that were shooting around his brain and body like fireworks or burning like slow flames. It was so different having good feelings he wanted to get the most out of them.

But right now, and since she said it, the thought of Claire Standish unable to sleep for the thought of him was a feeling that was more than good, and it drove out every other thought but wasn't a thought itself or even a feeling, it was more like a blanket of want that was all around him but that he couldn't quite touch. It was so much more than good that it might kill him here in the cold as the air grew dark around him and his feet carried him closer and closer to home.

How could she say that to him and then leave like that? How could they possibly make a sweater that was that soft? How could her skin turn the color it did just by looking at him? How could he possibly have become such a fucking idiot? How the hell was he ever going to spend any time with her? He suspected Claire was a girl who might like to be taken somewhere other than an abandoned building. He suspected he was a guy who would like to take her somewhere other than an abandoned building.

Like to his bedroom. For a weekend. He wouldn't even have to go farther than they already had. He could just lick her lips and watch her like it. He could just lie there and watch her bite her lips after he licked them which was how he knew that she knew that she liked something. A lot. He could look at her look at him and watch her blush under her sweater.

He was going to lose his fucking mind over that girl and like it.

Or maybe they could go for a coffee or a coke or whatever dorks did when they liked girls.

Maybe they could talk.

But first he was probably going to have to go home.

Home. The idea of calling that place by that name was perverted. John didn't want to go there, he'd rather stay out here on the street and sleep in the cold with the warm idea of Claire Standish giggling with Allison Reynolds of all people over which lip gloss she'd let him taste on her lips, and nothing to make it seem less real or less likely than it already did.

He'd rather huddle in the shelter of a dumpster and smoke cigarettes instead of eating dinner while the adults in his life used all their limited vocabulary and conversational skills to try to convince their son that he was worth less than the food on his plate. Or maybe it would be one of those evenings of a TV dinner alone in his room, the congealed cup of apple crisp looking up at him in a kind of horrible reproach, like it was in league with his mom and dad in a conspiracy to disappoint him, as if it was dedicated to being as big a failure at being dessert as they were at being parents.

John stopped and lit a cigarette. He glared at the dirty wall of a building he was passing, hitting it first with the flat of his hand and then turning to lean into it, then to his bang the back of his head against the brick. He was not going there. There was no way in hell he was going there right now. He'd find Skins and whoever else, they'd get stoned and maybe have a couple of beers. Then he'd go home and stare down his TV dinner.

He liked a girl. Fine. He liked a girl a lot. It didn't mean he'd sprouted wings and a goddamn halo.

And tomorrow, he'd figure out some way of talking to Claire. More than that. He'd figure out some way of saying something to her.

********

When her father's driver dropped Claire off for school slightly early the next day, the first thing Claire saw was John Bender in his long coat and scarf pacing like a caged animal. He was over to one side of the building and there were already a quite a few kids hanging out on the steps between them. He looked like he'd been waiting for someone and his eyes followed her as she swung her legs out of the car. His eyes were on her as she stood on her higher than usual heels and pulled down her shorter than usual skirt. He stared she smoothed her just slightly more form-fitting usual cashmere sweater under her coat and adjusted her necklace. She looked straight at John and smiled with half her mouth in a way he thought looked like real dessert, like icing on a cake.

Then she grabbed her bag and walked up the stairs, pausing here and there to check in with friends and enemies.

John Bender had only slowed his pace slightly as Claire had pulled up but when she started moving around in her clothes like that he stopped dead in his tracks and when she looked at him and smiled he felt the same as if she'd pushed him.

John didn't want to follow her too closely even with his eyes but he was really in no mood to wait around. His night once he'd gotten home had been hell and his mother's nastiness and bullshit was still ringing in his ears. Last night he'd tried to drown it out with the thought of Claire not sleeping because of thinking about him too much and that had not helped him sleep. The thought of Claire ever seeing where he lived or what his parents were like or how his house smelled made it seem very unlikely that she'd continue to think of him and not sleep, at least not in the way he hoped she meant it.

To calm himself down he'd done a few more onehits into a rolled up towel which had made him cough, then made him fuzzy, and all that had meant a morning headache. He'd gotten up and out by six, avoiding all possibility of a parent. He'd had to shell out for a cup of coffee to clear his head and stay awake and then he'd been at school almost an hour early. He'd been thinking about Claire so much he felt like it must be afternoon already, when in actuality that wasn't until another six hours of only hoping to catch a glimpse of her had passed.

He had no idea what her schedule was or how people like her lived. He thought maybe glee was involved but that probably came later in the day. He was waiting by the door because he'd seen her get in a car there once. And then there was the car and then there she was and he felt relief and then he had no idea what to do. As soon as he saw her, seeing her felt like no where near enough.

Every word that Claire said to anyone that wasn't John Bender seemed like some kind of bad joke to her. Why did she just not go up to him? Why was it like this? She told someone, she couldn't even swear who, that she had to run in because she had to recopy part of her trig because she'd spilled coffee on it. She fumbled in her bag and pulled out the paper. "Major drag. Gotta book." She rolled her eyes and waved it in the air.

Once inside Claire made straight to the office and went to the secretary. She put her head to one side and began wheedling. "Ms Mantego, I need help. I'm having, like, a major trig crisis and I totally need a quiet place to go for my study hall third period. Just part of it. I overslept for all but the last five minutes of extra help and I found out I'm gonna need to redo, like, three problems before fifth period or I won't get credit. Normally it's like whatever but I've got these total loser boys in my study halls and they like, are so gross to me, you know? The teacher never sees but they're always, like, ogling me. Can you please just find me an empty classroom or something, just for maybe the first 10 minutes? If I don't pull a B my parents are going to go ballistic. and I'm trying so hard."

Ms Mantego sighed patiently. "Claire Standish. Is it so hard to be pretty?"

Claire blushed a little genuinely and then said, "You know how it is, right? I mean, you totally must have gone through the same thing. And trig is so hard. Are triangles, like, really so important?"

Mrs Mantego turned to a scheduling volume on my desk. "Well, Room 335 is usually 9th grade history in 3rd period, but they have a field trip. You can go there for the first twenty minutes, then check in with me, show me your trig problems because I wasn't born yesterday, and I'll give you a pass to study hall. In fact, why don't you give me a look at them now, so I can see the difference."

Claire breathed an enormous sigh of relief. She pulled out the piece of paper she'd held up outside. "See? I even spilled coffee on it trying to stay up to do it. It is totally kicking my . . . behind, you know? Thank you so much for understanding."

But the secretary was already looking over Claire's shoulder and from the expression on her face she was less than happy to see her next visitor. Her mouth settled into a grim line.

"John Bender. Isn't this a little early in the morning to be in here, even for you? Mr Vernon isn't in yet. Who sent you?"

Claire's heart stopped beating and then started again but much faster. She looked at the second hand on the large white wall clock in front of her and watched it inch along its track. She didn't turn around. She was sure if she turned around and saw John it would be immediately obvious that she was ridiculously happy to see him or she would try so hard to cover it up that she wouldn't look happy to see him and then he would get the wrong idea. She wanted to turn around. She didn't turn around. The second hand showed only a few seconds had passed.

"Mrs Mantego, aren't you worried it's hard for me to be pretty too?" John's voice was full of concern and a little bit of bite.

Mrs Mantego rolled her eyes. "It doesn't keep me up nights, no."

Claire had snorted and tried to turn it into a cough but then at Mrs Mantego's choice of words she could feel herself turning red. She just had to turn around.

She did turn around. John Bender stood behind her with his typical stance of try and even make me give a shit. Dead sexy. He looked at her. She thought especially he looked at her where her sweater met her skin. She looked an incredulous "what gives?" at him, because he should know he shouldn't be here, while Mrs Mantego repeated her first question, "Who sent you?"

"Wait, why don't I get a hall pass? You know girls are crazy about me. You can't imagine how hard it can be to concentrate when you know you're keeping girls up at night thinking about you."

John took a beat to steal a look at Claire. If he had to guess, she knew exactly what he was talking about. He turned back to Mrs Mantego, adding, "And then I can't sleep. See? Being good-looking makes study hall so difficult.

Claire found herself unable to leave. John Bender was talking completely seriously and in a totally deadpan way and she couldn't even put her finger on what gave the whole speech such a mocking tone. It sounded like he was making fun of her and Mrs Mantego and of course he was making fun of her and Mrs Mantego. And then in another way he was telling her, Claire Standish, something, something that was important to be staging all this for. And he did look tired. He was even managing to look earnest. Even if the real earnest was somewhere underneath the apparent earnestness which was part of the mocking.

Claire was fascinated. She thought John Bender might be a genius. She also thought he might drive her completely insane.

Mrs Mantego looked less impressed. "For the third time, John Bender, and Mr Vernon will be here soon so I suggest you deal with me while you have the chance, who sent you here and what did you do?"

John put his head down as if in shame and then looked up at the secretary, a picture of exaggerated contrition. "I was running in the hallways, ma'am."

The secretary raised her heavily penciled eyebrows. "You. John Bender. Were running in the hallways of Shermer High, and not to get out of it? What are you up to?" She looked genuinely worried.

Looking straight at her, John leaned deep over into her desk, his big coat brushing past Claire who was still standing there. She felt every thread of the coat. She didn't move. While John's coat brushed softly against Claire's legs so that she could feel the wool scratching right through her stockings, John began speaking very confidentially to Mrs Mantego. He looked straight into Mrs Mantego's eyes and spoke with something that could have been sarcasm or could have been intensity.

"You see, it happened like this. I heard that the prom queen was in here. When I realized I could be in the same room with her even just for a few minutes, I couldn't control myself. I ran all the way." He shook his head, and looked down, and then resumed his confessional, maintaining the same dead serious, mocking tone. "I'm just that crazy about Claire Standish." He hung his head again. He even shuffled his feet.

He stole another glimpse at Claire. Bingo. He was definitely having an effect. He loved that. He could feel a smile tugging on his lips and he kept his head down to hide it.

Mrs Mantego shook her head. "Claire, sweetheart. Forget I said anything. I guess it is hard to be that pretty. You can count on me any time."

Claire knew she was biting her lip and hoped it looked a little pissed off or something. She also hoped that she looked sufficiently grateful when she acknowledged Mrs Mantego's words and nodded her thanks.

She really had no idea, though, because inside Claire Standish, the entire collection of butterflies was now back in full force under every single inch of her skin and breathing was an enormous challenge that she wasn't quite up to. Just because of hearing John Bender say those words when he wasn't even serious. Part of her wanted to crack up because John was really funny and part of her wanted to hit him because coming there was so stupid and pointless and he should be trying to stay out of trouble, not get into it. Part of her wanted the whole office with its orange carpeting and beige walls and grimy fake flowers to melt away so she could just be kissing John Bender because he looked so good when he was being arrogant and smartass and taking risks because of her. And then part of her wanted die of happiness at the thought that even one thing that he had just said about being out of control and crazy about her might be even a little bit true.

"And as for you," continued Mrs Mantego, looking sternly at John, "what do you think you're doing, picking on a nice girl like Claire? Show some respect. You said yourself, it's not like you don't have plenty of others to keep you busy." Mrs Mantego put an unpleasant emphasis on "others" and curled her lip.

Unfortunately, in addition to the other complicated feelings that were competing with the butterflies and the breathing and the problem of how not to look like a total idiot in the middle of the Shermer High office, Claire now wanted to kill Mrs Mantego. She wanted to commit this murder not only because Mrs Mantego suggested that Claire was somehow above John, which was a way of thinking Claire really didn't want him reminded of, but also because she'd mentioned other girls, like the girls in his wallet, which was a way of thinking Claire really didn't want him reminded of. Or be reminded of herself.

Claire would absolutely, positively not say a single word about it ever again but the thought of the girls in John Bender's wallet made her ill.

John caught Claire's slight change of breath at Mrs Mantego's comment about "others" and he pretty much could have strangled the bitch right there. But instead, he surprised himself yet again.

It had been a pretty big surprise to find himself running down the hall to try to run into the school office and when he got there it had been an even bigger surprise to hear an incredibly ditsy version of Claire Standish manage to convince the school secretary to give her a private classroom for however long, off the books, and with no adult supervision. It was even a surprise that he could for one second suspect, although he didn't really believe it, that her reasons for doing that impressive thing had something to do with him. But the biggest surprise of all were the words that came out of his mouth next when he looked at her and saw that the secretary's comment had made her sad.

John looked straight at Claire, looking her up and down. Claire felt like he could see right through her, like he knew exactly what she was feeling and thinking. But he was also looking like he could see right through her sweater, or that he was at least trying very hard, and this made her feel warm and made her face turn redder. He was standing close to her. His coat was still brushing against her legs from time to time and she was completely aware of his physical presence and she was completely aware that he knew this. She was about to begin to get angry with him for making her feel so uncomfortable and embarrassed.

Then he said it.

"I don't know, Mrs Mantego. It's hard to think about other girls when you're standing next to a real honest to goodness teen princess."

He made it sound like a joke. He made it sound like an insult. But in reality, John Bender had once again said exactly the perfect right thing. He had managed to sweep her off her feet in the middle of the school office without anyone else being able to tell and in a way that was almost certainly going to piss off the school secretary because of the way he was treating Claire herself—and probably get him in trouble with Principal Dick.

Claire looked down, completely unable to meet his eyes. So she only heard the still-mocking tone of his next comment. "It's a shame, Mrs Mantego, but between Claire Standish and your lovely self, those other girls just might be out of luck."

And as soon as he said it, didn't need to look at Claire to know he'd nailed that one just right. Score one for the burnout. He had a ghost of a suspicion that he might also have just changed whatever game they were playing, but as long as he was winning, he didn't much care.

Claire began flouncing out of the office. She was not going to be able to stand here for another minute without throwing herself at John and making out with him and in front of Mrs Mantego was not where she wanted that to happen. Then she stopped. She had planned to leave a note for him but now she wouldn't have time before third period. She had to think fast. She took a deep breath. She turned to face John Bender, full in view of Mrs Mantego at the same time.

Pinning John beneath her best version of queen outrage and disgust, she looked witheringly into his face and said, "Just to get this straight. You stood there, behind my back, and listened to my private conversation?"

John looked highly amused. He was turned to face her so that Mrs Mantego couldn't see his expression. "Every word I could. You know, like I was hanging on your lips."

"OK, so you are more gross than should be legal. And now, like, you know my personal business and where I'm going to be?"

John nodded very slightly, and then said loudly, "Don't worry, princess, even you couldn't pay me enough to get that close to," and he leaned forward a little, as if he were going to say something really juicy and insulting, "trigonometry."

Claire turned her back and hoped the obvious huff she was trying to walk off in hid what felt like it must be a whole body smile. John Bender was definitely one of the most exciting things that had ever happened to her.

John watched her stalk off. He thought that Claire Standish had just walked out of the office after making sure he knew to meet her in the classroom she had arranged to be alone in by lying and scheming and pretending to be an airhead to the school secretary.

He had the prom queen not only blushing but misbehaving. It was like he'd died and gone to a special heaven for John Benders.

Except for what happened next. Dick Vernon walked in and sneered at the sight of him before barking, "Bender. My office!" That was more like a special John Bender hell. But John realized that he could replay in his mind pretty much every breath Claire had taken under that cashmere sweater and realized that she had probably worn it because he had liked the other one. He also realized that she had just managed to work a way that he'd be to touch it in just a couple of hours.

John figured that whatever had just happened, and he was still trying to figure it out—whatever had happened was definitely worth whatever Vernon was shelling out.

And he had to admit. Score one for the princess.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know this is all a big joke to you, Bender, and I know we'll probably figure out in a few days what you were really up to. But I hope, for your sake, you don't think for even a moment that there is one chance in ten million that a girl like Claire Standish would even think about looking at you with anything but total disgust?"
> 
> Bender shook his head. He was not going to let this happen. He was not going to go to this place. He knew this place.
> 
> John thought about Claire's face in the closet, Claire's face when she first looked at him and tried to get him to stop doing—what he was doing now, actually, baiting Vernon, digging himself a deeper hole. The look on her face then. It was anything but disgust.
> 
> He remembered exactly how he felt.
> 
> He looked straight at Dick Vernon and said with total honesty, "Nothing would surprise me more, sir.

 

 

it always seems like you're leaving  
when I know the other one  
just a little too well.

-Violent Femmes

 

Claire was rushing to get to homeroom. The office had taken longer than she'd planned. You couldn't really plan for events like John Bender. She sighed. It made life so much more interesting, though.

She was still all fluttery and distracted and in this state she ran almost straight into Allison and Andy, who were walking slowly in the other direction. Andy was carrying Allison's books.

Andy laughed at Claire. "Walk much?"

Claire rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well not all of us have a butler—or, you know, are one."

Andy turned a little pink. Allison just smiled. Then she said, narrowing her eyes a little, "Root beer."

Claire laughed. "Bubble gum."

Andy looked from one to the other like they both might be crazy. "Is this some kind of a code?"

Allison whirled and looked at him, her face totally intense. "Yes. We came up with a plan for world domination. Yesterday. In the drug store. It's very nefarious. It involves purple."

Claire worked hard to keep a straight face. How were Allison and John so good at it? She had a lot to learn. She turned slowly to Andy. "There might still be time for you to stop us. But you'll have to do careful research. And we change the code constantly."

Claire turned to go. Very broadly, and loudly, though, she turned and called—"I'll talk to you at lunch, Allison."

Allison waved back in a kind of pleased disbelief. The bell rang and Allison grabbed her books and planted a quick, firm kiss on Andy's lips. Then she was gone. She left Andy standing alone in the hall, late for class and licking his lips with a stupid grin on his face. "Ok. Root beer," he thought to himself.

Just before turning through the door to homeroom, Claire caught sight of Ruth-Ann and managed a wave. She could tell Ruth-Ann had seen the whole exchange with Allison and Andy because her face was twisted into a kind of incredulous sneer that she tried unsuccessfully to turn into a smile when she saw Claire. Claire also noted, to her total embarrassment and disbelief, that Ruth-Ann was wearing a pair of jeans that looked suspiciously . . . distressed. In exactly the same place Claire's had been the day before.

Claire rolled her eyes. Whatever.

******

Arms crossed, legs crossed and kicked out in front of him, John Bender stared at Dick Vernon staring at him. John was pretty impressed by the variety of textures his hate for this man could take on. He waited for Vernon to speak again.

"For the last time, who sent you and what did you do?"

"I told you, sir, I caught myself running in the halls and I turned myself in. It's very simple. Have you been tested for any kind of cognitive difficulties, sir? Because we have special classes for that here at Shermer."

"Why would you turn yourself in? Did you not get enough of me on Saturday?" Vernon made the sign that John interpreted as the horns of the bull.

"Don't you want us to be upstanding school citizens? What if ratting myself out is just the first step to my ratting out my friends? Isn't that what you want?" John figured he could do this for a while. Small price to pay, really.

"What I want." Dick Vernon leaned back. "What I want, Bender, is a world without punks like you in it. Or at least a world without you in it. Can you make that happen? Huh, punk?"

Bender stared at him in shocked silence. The thought ran through his head: the principal of my fucking high school is encouraging me to kill myself. He wished, not for the first time, that he had a tape recorder for these little sessions.

"Failing that," continued Vernon, "I want you to explain to me why my secretary is upset at the way you were treating that girl, that Standish girl. Because what you told the secretary and what you told me, your two stories, don't add up. You're up to something, Bender, and I want to know what it is."

John rolled his eyes. "I explained to Mrs Mantego. Maybe she should be in resource with you. Because I told her. I'm crazy about Claire Standish ever since you put us together in detention. I saw her walk in here. I couldn't help myself, and I ran after her. Then, because I want to be a better, more worthwhile person to deserve her, I turned myself in." He held his hands up and raised his eyebrows.

Vernon pointed a finger at him, "I don't know what your game is, Bender, but let me make one thing perfectly clear to you. Criminals like you don't get to go anywhere near girls like that. Even as part of whatever bad joke you think you're making."

"Well, gee, Dick, then why did you put us together in detention?"

"Everyone has their lessons to learn. Hers don't concern you. But just because there's the same rules for everyone doesn't mean that everyone is the same, you got that, punk?" Vernon was pointing his finger at him for emphasis again. At least he wasn't touching him.

John Bender stared at him, incredulous. "Got it."

"I know this is all a big joke to you, Bender, and I know we'll probably figure out in a few days what you were really up to. But I hope, for your sake, you don't think for even a moment that there is one chance in ten million that a girl like Claire Standish would even think about looking at you with anything but total disgust?"

Bender shook his head. He was not going to let this happen. He was not going to go to this place. He knew this place.

John thought about Claire's face in the closet, Claire's face when she first looked at him and tried to get him to stop doing—what he was doing now, actually, baiting Vernon, digging himself a deeper hole. The look on her face then. It was anything but disgust.

He remembered exactly how he felt.

He looked straight at Dick Vernon and said with total honesty, "Nothing would surprise me more, sir."

"So you understand that you'll have nothing to do with her?"

"You know, Dick, I'm not sure that your authority extends to our social lives. I'm pretty sure we have freedom of association. I'm pretty sure that is in the Constitution."

"The Constitution doesn't apply to children, you moron."

"What did you just call me? I'm sure the resource room teachers will not be pleased to hear of your use of disrespectful language pertaining to their students, Principal Vernon."

"Don't you get it, punk? No one will believe a word you say against me. You're nothing. No one. Zero. Now I want you out of here. Get to class. And if I hear one more word about your mouthing off to Claire Standish, I'll have a talk with her father about it. He could make life all kinds of difficult for you. And not just for you. For anyone he pays"

Bender realized that Dick Vernon thought he was threatening his parents. Did his parents somehow work for the Standishes? He had no idea. Who knew what the fuck the Standishes owned in this town. His father worked security. He didn't even know for sure who he worked for. John swallowed. If Dick Vernon ever got the idea that John's father was a good way to get to John, the pathetic excuse he had for a life would be completely over.

John thought fast. A good offense is the best defense. Or something. Worked for him.

"You do that, sir. Make sure you tell him how you introduced us. Make sure you explain how you put us together, unsupervised, for nine hours. Because I'm sure he was pleased his daughter had detention. And I'm sure Mr Standish would be more than delighted with you, sir, for making sure her punishment was also an opportunity to get intimate with an upstanding young gentleman such as myself."

"Are you just desperate for more Saturdays with me, Bender?"

"Are you? Because every Saturday I spend with you is one you spend with me. I can't think of a better way of getting back at you, Dick."

Dick Vernon stared at him as if this side of the equation was just now revealed to him. "Get out of here, punk, and don't let me see you again until Saturday if you know what's good for you.

John missed half of first period talking to Dick Vernon and that pissed him off even more than having to go to first period did. Words from Dick Vernon kept flinging around in his brain, interfering with the good vibe he'd been getting from Claire. They picked up echoes from his mother, echoes that had been drowned out by the fun he'd had in the office with Claire. But now those echoes were back and with Vernon and his mother ganging up on him in his own mind by the time he got to second period, he was in a foul mood.

Really, what did make him think he could look at, much less touch, a girl like Claire Standish? Maybe a kiss in a closet or cop a feel of some rich fabric in a doorway. But really touch her. John Bender looked at his own hand. He had to admit. It seemed pretty unlikely

When he made it to second period, Brian Johnson was hovering just outside the door. Brian took just one look at Bender's dark stormcloud of a face and jumped backwards as if he'd been stung or touched electricity the wrong way. Bender did a doubletake.

"What gives? Do you think I bite?"

Brian laughed nervously. "No. Why would I think that? I mean, you clearly don't, right?"

John looked at him in disbelief. "Riight." He drew out the word a little in contempt. He was not in a good mood.

"Well, listen. I just. You know. Thought. I mean, that way you wouldn't feel as if you had to and so. It's a second bag. And then I had French with Claire, because we do, and she was worried."

John shook his head. "You French with Claire, as you do, so I wouldn't have to. And she's upset about your bag. Brian, I find that hard to believe."

Brian looked terrified. "No! I mean, I didn't say that. I mean I would never, and she—never.

Bender sighed. "Fine. Try again." He looked at his bare wrist. "You have thirty seconds."

"Claire passed me a note in French class, which we have together. It said you were in with Principal Vernon. She was worried."

"She said she was worried in the note."

"She made a worried face."

"She passed you a note about me. With my name on it?"

"Duh. Do I look psychic?"

Bender shot him a look.

"I mean, yes. How else would I know who she was talking about? And so I passed her a note saying I had to talk to you and I'd check in, you know, which I don't usually do because it's disruptive"

"Talking to me is disruptive?"

"Um. Passing notes is. Disruptive. Of class. Talking to you can be, you know, cool. I brought you your own bag."

"Pudding?"

Brian smiled and gave Bender a thumbs up. "And John. I mean, I think she really does. Care about you."

John looked up sharply. "Did she say that in a note?"

Blushing, Brian shook his head. "No. She doesn't have to. I mean, you, like, lay into her for hours on Saturday and she still looked at you in that way. And how many notes do you think Claire Standish writes to me in French class? Like, on a typical day."

John looked down and smiled. "Point taken. See you at lunch, brainface."

He walked into class with a little of his good mood back.

******

Tap. Tap. Tap. Claire's pencil nervously tapping on the side of her book was making her more nervous. She couldn't look at the clock to see how long she'd been there. She had her trig book open. She was looking at trig. She was trying to be nonchalant.

He wasn't here.

Room 335. Empty. She had been so sure he'd understood. She'd been so fluttery afterwards, it had been like walking on air, or stumbling on air because it was making her clumsy, feeling that much alive all at once. She'd almost knocked over Allison and Andy. And then that went well. Allison still looked cute. They had a secret joke. She publicly told her she'd see her at lunch. All her plans and resolutions seemed to be going better than expected. Maybe telling Allison she'd see her at lunch was lavender. At least it wasn't quite beige or pink.

But then she'd seen Ruth-Ann with her stupid, nasty-looking sneer and her stupider copy-cat jeans, the jeans she'd ragged on Claire for yesterday. She so didn't care what Ruth-Ann thought of her but Ruth-Ann so clearly cared too much about what people thought of Claire and what people thought of Ruth-Ann and what people thought about the two of them, like, compared. It made Claire want, suddenly, and maybe for the first time, to be nobody. Someone no one would notice. Someone who could go right up to Allison Reynolds—much less John Bender—and smile and say hi and have no one notice or think anything about it.

That was the beginning of the worries. Because Claire Standish knew she was not that person, and someone had noticed that she'd said hi to Allison Reynolds and she wasn't sure how it would work out, for her or for Allison. And if she said hi to, much less walked down the halls with, John Bender, then all hell really would break loose.

Then, as Claire sat trying to conjugate verbs of motion in the past tense next to Brian Johnson, where she'd sat on purpose to show she still liked him, she'd been overcome with the sense that John Bender was in a room alone with that asshole, that Principal Dick, and she used the bad words in her thoughts and almost said them out loud. She realized that John was in there because of her, and it wasn't for the first time.

Well. Not that she'd made him do it.

But maybe if she just said hi to him he wouldn't have had to do all that. He wouldn't have gone to Principal Dick's office and gotten more detention.

Maybe if she just was with him like normal, she wouldn't have had to do all that in the office either, lying and pretending and sucking up.

The truth was, though, she'd liked doing all that. She'd loved it. It had been fun, it made her blood rush, it was different and she felt daring. It was something they were doing together, private but public. It was exciting. She knew he felt that too. He was the one who taught her, "being bad feels pretty good."

She wanted it to feel better. With him. She wanted to feel so many things with him it made her head spin.

But he wasn't actually here.

Claire realized then that she had also made sure she was safe. She would have a hall pass. She'd covered her own ass.

She didn't have a pass for John. She had just assumed he was always skipping class and that he'd be ok with it. She'd assumed it would be ok for him to be in trouble again. With the principal that locked him in a closet, as he thought, for hours and hours without food or water.

This made Claire feel a little miserable. More like she was the person John had thought she was when he was yelling at her and sneering at her. Like someone who thought she counted for more than other people or made snap judgments about people or worse, didn't really think about some other people at all, or at least not in the right way.

Maybe he was back in that closet now. Maybe he didn't come because Vernon had done something to him. She never had seen Brian to hear if he'd talked to John. There hadn't been time. It hadn't been very long.

It felt like forever.

She could have said hi to him. It wasn't that much. She didn't have to just walk on by. His words echoed in her head. "You know how shitty that is to do to someone!" Didn't he understand?

But then, he didn't say hi to her either. Not publicly. Not in front of his friends. Maybe he didn't want to be seen with her. He'd actually said that, actually said that very thing. That she didn't need to worry what people would say when they walked down the halls together because it was never going to happen.

Of course. Things had changed since then. They had kissed twice. They had held hands. Which, him being John Bender, might mean more. They had discussed cashmere.

But that didn't mean he wanted to have her as his public girlfriend. Or his girlfriend at all. He wasn't even that kind of guy.

All those hopes and flutters Claire had felt over his words in the office were being replaced by small anxieties. She took a deep breath. She remembered the touch of his lips and skin.

But it would be better if she didn't have to remember. It would have been better if he had come. Then she could say, she was sorry for being selfish. She could. She didn't know what. She just knew she felt better when he was right there in front of her than when he wasn't.

When she heard the door click open she felt her breath sharply in her chest and she felt the tears pricking behind her eyes and she didn't even care if it was someone to bust her. That way at least he might get the message that she was risking something for him.

But right. She wasn't. She was sitting there, with permission, doing her trig homework. She looked at her book. She wasn't doing anything risky at all. She couldn't even make herself look up.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Surprised to see me, Cherry?"
> 
> Claire jumped in her skin. Apparently she was. Then she looked up. She smiled at him. A little weakly, but she smiled. John could feel his heart get less tight. But as John looked at her face, he could see was upset. Was she pissed off that he came? Pissed off that he came late? He shook his head, then looked at her again.
> 
> He watched as she put her pencil down. She looked down, bit her lip, looked up. She was flushed. John had no idea what was going on but the sight of her was calming him down and working him up at the same time. He wanted her to get up from behind that desk. Whatever she had had in mind. He wanted to see more of her. Like her legs.
> 
> Wait. She was talking.

Dear lady there's so many things,  
that I have come to fear  
Little voice says I'm going crazy,  
to see all my worlds disappear . . .

\--Violent Femmes

 

When John made it through the door of 335 he stopped short and took a moment. He wanted to be running. Part of him even wanted to be crying. But that wasn't how he was going to play this.

He knew he was late. Later than he wanted. But there had been Vernon, right down the hall, busting some other student, and he just couldn't face that again. Vernon was a freak. So John had hung back in a different doorway until he was gone.

So he was late. Big deal? He didn't know. He didn't really know what it meant to keep a princess waiting. He didn't really know if she thought waiting was a two-way street. Seemed, like other things, unlikely. He didn't walk all the way into the room at first, but hung in doorway, just out of sight. He had to calm his heart rate a little bit.

He caught a glimpse of Claire, though, nose in her book. She didn't even look up right away. Was she really here to study? Was he just a convenient addition? He considered the fact of a note to Brian Johnson. He knew Claire wanted to see him. Even Dick Vernon could not fuck him up on this.

But taking advantage of circumstances, for a princess, wasn't the same as working hard to create them.

He wanted it to be the second one, badly. But he played it cool. He strolled into the room, leaned against the wall, and crossed his arms. He looked at Claire. She looked at her book.

"Surprised to see me, Cherry?"

Claire jumped in her skin. Apparently she was. Then she looked up. She smiled at him. A little weakly, but she smiled. John could feel his heart get less tight. But as John looked at her face, he could see was upset. Was she pissed off that he came? Pissed off that he came late? He shook his head, then looked at her again.

He watched as she put her pencil down. She looked down, bit her lip, looked up. She was flushed. John had no idea what was going on but the sight of her was calming him down and working him up at the same time. He wanted her to get up from behind that desk. Whatever she had had in mind. He wanted to see more of her. Like her legs.

Wait. She was talking.

"What do you mean, surprised? I was worried. Then you startled me."

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Princess." John was a little shocked by his own tone. It sounded harsh. It sounded different from how he was feeling. He frowned.

Claire's face crumbled a little. John had a sinking feeling of dread. There. He had done it. He had fucked it up. It had just been a matter of time. He shifted. He kept his arms crossed. Guys like him probably didn't get to touch her, after all. Not because of her. Because of him.

Then she spoke again. "No, no, not like that. John, I'm not like that. Please. I—I don't think like that. I'm sorry. I didn't want to get you in trouble. I didn't think. I was just having fun—in the office. I wanted to see you. I just thought, I don't know, it would be fun if you came here. But I didn't want you to get in trouble because of me."

Her face was mesmerizing. He wanted to remember it forever. She looked like she was about to cry. Because of him. But not because he'd been trying to hurt her. Because Brian Johnson was right. She cared about him.

And he was a total asshole not to have seen it. But he had seen it--and all it took was a few minutes with Dick Vernon to almost get him to throw it the fuck away. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Still, there she was, still feeling bad. And there he was. Still not helping.

"Claire. Do you have magical powers now? How do you suppose you got me in trouble? Trust me. I need no help with that." He smiled. He still sounded angry. He hated his voice. He was angry. But not at her.

She actually sniffed. Like she had been crying. But her eyes weren't red. She tried to smile. A little. "I know you don't. That's why I don't want to help you. But I want—I don't think Vernon is ok with you."

John snorted bitterly. "What makes you think that? He wants to be with me every weekend. We're practically engaged." He considered that he would rather die than have Claire know what he and Vernon had talked about. That would really be the end.

"I mean—what did he say to you? You seem—even this morning. Before the office. You—did something happen?" She looked up at him. Her eyes were big. They were like question marks.

He didn't want to lie to her. He wanted to talk to her, he really, really did. But he didn't want to talk about Dick Vernon or her father or his father.

"I mean, did he say something about, me? Since we, you know, since I was in there? That secretary, I don't know—"

Claire sounded timid. And worried.

If he had ten minutes a day to spend with this girl, that wasn't how he wanted to spend it. He'd tell her that.

"Cherry. Back here." He walked to the back of the room. She looked questioningly. That poor kid looked so confused. She wasn't used to this.

"C'mon. This way, if someone walks in, you have a second to deal with it. Plus you know, I can't go near that trigonometry."

Claire smiled for real at that. She got up from her desk and automatically smoothed her skirt and smoothed her sweater over her skirt. John felt his eyes open wider. He felt his breath quicken. He wanted to touch her so fucking bad it hurt. He looked at her and watch her get that. He watched her look at and feel how much he wanted to touch her. She licked her lips and came a little closer. He looked her up and down again and watched her watching him look at her. He realized he could do this all day. He realized that the reason he didn't kiss her right away is that he liked watching her want him to kiss her. He even liked watching her watch him want to kiss her.

Apparently, he liked losing his fucking mind.

As he had foretold.

And as for any asshole that wanted to keep this from him, let him fucking try.

"If I have ten minutes to spend with you and that sweater, I don't want to spend them talking about Dick fucking Vernon. Get it over here. I wanna continue my cashmere education."

And then Claire was in front of him. He reached out his hand to touch the band of her sweater. This one felt different. He stroked it gently there, up and down just about two inches in the front. She looked up at him seriously and put a hand to his brow and brushed the hair out of his eyes. She trailed her finger down his face, then down his chest. She fiddled with his shirt while she spoke to him.

"This sweater is a little bit tighter weave. Feel how it's a little thicker, a little firmer? But it's still soft."

John nodded seriously. "I do see that." He stroked up, then moved his hand to her face. He stroked her cheek and down to her neck, slowly. He paused. "I think it's important to go over this material a little more, though."

Claire colored and laughed a little at the joke. She didn't stop his hand. His finger continued down, down the side of her neck and lightly over the V of her sweater. He stroked the V, following his finger with eyes. "I want to make sure I understand." He looked at her. Her mouth was slightly open. Her pupils were dilated and her hand had stilled on his shirt. "Soft—" and he hooked his index finger just the smallest bit. Not so that he was under the sweater. Just so that his finger was running down the edge. The part of his finger that lightly touched her skin was fully above her sweater. He met her eyes. She was motionless. She looked hypnotized.

He had to learn how to go just far enough to make her ache for more, and then stop. He wanted more than anything, for Claire to feel each thing they did was something she felt like she might die if she didn't have. It was how he was feeling. He wanted her to match it. He didn't care how long it took. He suddenly realized that was true. He wanted her to want him more than he wanted her to do him.

He ran his finger down her chest, softly between her breasts, just over the sweater there, then applying more pressure on the way back down to her waist, so that her skin there could feel the friction. He said softly, "Just so you know, I'd really like to get more of a handle on this soft but firm concept—" Claire's breath hitched and she opened her mouth like she was about to speak. John put his other finger over her mouth, gently, to quiet her. "But that's going to have to wait. First there are some other important points we need to cover."

John was very impressed by his control. But he needed her to know that there was something major to control.

He moved his hand slowly to her side and curved his fingers around her waist there. He said, "I think we've covered soft for today. But like you said. It really isn't just about soft." He pulled her closer and her hand made to go flat on his chest as if to push him away. He didn't let go right away, but he didn't push either. She breathed more deeply, then faster, then looked up at his face. He felt her hand move slowly up his chest and to the side, to rest on his shoulder, so she was not pushing, but holding him. He could feel her decision to let him keep leading. He could feel her tremble and he kept gently caressing her hip.

Then he pulled her slowly but steadily into him so that their hips touched and he could feel himself pressing into her. He felt her feel that, felt her realize what that meant. He felt her soft intake of breath and watched her quick, wide-eyed stare for a minute. He put his other hand on her cheek and stroked that gently with his thumb. He knew he had to be careful. He had to not pressure her. She just had to know. She had to know what she did to him. He kept his hand in place on her hip, rubbing softly. "As you pointed out, there is also firm." He shifted his hips slightly and looked straight at her. And for a minute, he stopped any pretense of play. His voice was just him, him and his want and his need for her to know it. "You need to understand that."

Claire didn't meet his eyes. John couldn't breathe. He couldn't not breathe. It was the longest minute of his life but Claire did not pull away, which made it also one of the best.

Then she looked up, and it was the shyest and most full on fear and desire he had ever seen. She looked completely raw. John knew right then he would never forget that look until the day he died and he would never be the same after it. "I get that," she said softly. She swallowed. She moved her hips slightly. John thought anything impressive about his control might end right there. Claire took a deep breath. And she drew back slightly, but ran her hand slowly up and down his arm.

"I know, I might have some things to learn. It's not that I . . . might not want to learn it. I just may not be ready to learn about it all at once. And not for a while." She looked at him, a little pleading, as if she thought she really needed to make her case.

John tried to hide the stung feeling that gave him. "You think I don't know that, Cherry? Do you think I'm not ok with that? Do you think I'm that kind of asshole?"

Now it was Claire's turn to put her finger up to John's lips. "What does it mean to be a tease, John? Does it mean, if I want you to want—me, like that, and I want you, but don't want to do—everything? Is that the same as teasing? Don't you kind of like it if we . . . play a little? Can't it be fun?"

John was trying very hard to process the thought that Claire Standish thought he might not be ok with her kissing him and letting him touch her and telling him that she thought about him at night while not sleeping. The other half of his brain and other parts of him and most of his blood was stuck on the word "want" coming out of her mouth with relation to him. This made him dizzy. He had no idea how to explain. The feelings were too much. He simply had no idea how to go about trying to convince the most popular, beautiful girl in the school that he was ok with her wanting to kiss him. He could try just saying that.

"John?"

"Sorry, Princess. I'm having trouble dealing with the fact that I might need to convince the most beautiful in school that I like her kissing me."

Claire laughed shyly and blushed. "Do you really think I'm beautiful?"

John shook his head in disbelief. His whole day was like a whacked out episode of Fantasy Island meets Twilight Zone. Then he realized he'd shaken his head and he shook it again, looked at her, and said "yes."

They both laughed. He took her hand, turned it over in his. "Claire."

"Yes."

"Do you recall what you said to me yesterday when you got on that fucking bus and left me standing there wanting to kiss you what felt like more than anything in my life before or after?"

He gave her hand a squeeze. She didn't look at him. There was a little edge back in his voice even though he was trying to keep it light.

She said, without looking at him, "I think you might be referring to when I explained that thinking about you was making it difficult for me to sleep, and I may have alluded to the fact that since you had kissed me again and more and better than anyone else had, I was concerned that I might have even more difficulty the next night. Which was in fact," and here she shrugged a little, as if it was hardly anything, just matter of fact, "the case. Was that what you meant? Was that what you wanted to recall."

John put away "more and better than anyone else" for a good long chunk of sleepless night. He wanted to continue now, though. "Were you playing with me? Are you fucking playing with me?" Now he sounded pathetic, to himself, but it was one of the things on his list he felt like he had to know.

Claire took a breath. Then she looked at him. "Honestly, maybe a little. But I'm not toying with you. I mean, I think it would have been toying with you if I had said that and not wanted you—like if I'd wanted you to think about it, but it hadn't been true, or I hadn't wanted you to kiss me just as badly—"

But then she couldn't talk any more because John's lips were all over hers and his hands were in her hair and on her shoulders and down her back. He'd completely lost it at Claire's third use of the word "want" while looking at him and talking about kissing him. The "w" did this thing to her lips that somehow twisted the already hot meaning of "want" into some kind of knifepoint of desire. He had to put his mouth on hers and then it tasted like bubblegum, which was lip gloss she'd bought. With him in mind. It was so innocent and sexy at the same time.

John was not so innocent but he was pretty sure he was sexy. The first opening he got he thrust his tongue deep into her mouth and stroked her hard with it. He let his teeth clash into hers. He stroked her mouth again and then again with his tongue until he felt her moan a little. Then he bit at her lips a little, first top, then bottom, and pulled back. He let her bottom lip go. He looked at her. She looked really well kissed. Her breathing was hard and a little uneven. He grasped her face again and pressed her lips again. Then he took hold of her hips, just a little roughly. He didn't grind them into his, for which he deserved another control award. He just held on to them.

"If you're going to play like that, you need to know what you're playing with. You need to know time might come for little payback." He took a breath and rubbed his finger across her swollen lip. "And bubblegum might remind me I have teeth."

Suddenly, her shyness was gone and the look on her face was pure challenge. John swore he felt his blood speed up as she said, "If you're trying to convince me not to say things like that because it might mean you kiss me like that again, you might want to rethink your strategy, John Bender."

All he could do was look at her. He was pretty sure his mouth was open. And then he knew it was, because then she put her mouth back on his, she put it around his bottom lip and sucked on it gently, pulling it into her mouth and sucking it between her teeth and running her tongue over it. She bit it a little bit harder, then pulled back to smirk at him.

"And how do you know that's not why I bought bubble gum-flavored lip gloss in the first place? I thought you were smart. Was I wrong?"

John was completely speechless. The thought went through his mind that he'd never been at a loss for words so often and that if this kept up his reputation would be blown. The thought went through his mind that Dick Vernon would have a long time to wait if he thought John Bender was going to ease out of any world that had this kind of girl in it. He somehow hadn't considered the possibility that just one girl could be this much fun, this exciting, this painful, and feel this good.

He couldn't talk. He had to do something else. He started backing Claire up. He stared at her, right in the eyes. She stared right back at him. She let him back her up. He had a hand on one of her arms. Everywhere else, they were almost touching, but not quite. Every single place on his body was aware of almost but not touching Claire Standish. When her back was against the wall, he put one hand on either side of her, completely dominating her with his height and his strength, but not touching her.

"Maybe you were wrong, Claire. I may not be that smart. I didn't know you liked teeth."

"I didn't either. But think about it. What are the chances I'd pick you if I didn't like teeth? I mean, I could have picked Andy. Or Brian. I didn't. Stands to reason I might like something with a little more . . . bite."

John reached with his mouth and sucked gently on her neck. She gasped. "You picked me because you like teeth." He chewed gently up to her ear, and bit that a little harder. He whispered in it, "Like that?"

She looked at him again. She looked incredibly hot. "Can't you tell? Can't you tell if I like it or not? I mean, you're so experienced, and I'm just a pristine virgin, right?"

John shook his head. He was so floored. This was pretty much the most incredible half hour he had ever spent in his life. "I think you're pretty much proving that "virgin" is not a synonym for "pristine." Which by the way is fine with me."

"But can you tell if I like something?"

"Well, let's see. Let's consider the signs. I touched your cash sweater yesterday and you wore another one today. Did you put that sweater on this morning because you knew I would want to touch it like crazy, Claire?"

Claire didn't miss a beat. "If you get to ask questions, then I do too. And you have to tell the truth."

"You too."

"Deal."

"Deal. So answer."

"Yes. The answer to that question is yes. Did I get that one right?"

John closed his eyes and breathed in because suddenly the thought of Claire in lingerie choosing a sweater to put on her body to try to make him want to touch it more short circuited his entire brain by taking up all three top sexiest thing ever positions. Which she already occupied. His nights were going to be so long.

Finally he managed an answer. "Yes. Duh. Maybe you're the one who's not so smart."

"We'll see. My turn. Did you think I was pretty before I kissed you on Saturday?"

"Duh. I thought you were pretty from the second I saw you freshman year. I also thought you were a total bitch. After you kissed me—I only thought you were a partial—"

Claire swatted him in the arm. "You were doing very well with that answer, but then you totally messed it up and now you've failed. I get another question."

John pretended to consider. "Let me see. Um. No. My turn."

Claire pouted. John bent and sucked on her lip. "If you put it out there . . ."

Claire laughed and swatted at him again. "That's cheating. You can't make it that hard to concentrate."

"Then you should stop existing."

Claire blushed. "Ok. That was very well done. And sweet. And incredibly sexy." She looked at him and ran her finger on his mouth. "What if I don't really even like you? What if I just think you're incredibly sexy and I can't help myself?"

"I'll learn to live with it." He licked her finger with the tip of his tongue. Her eyes got very wide. "My turn."

"Wait, John, that's not true."

"It is my turn. No cheating."

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh." He pretended to think back. "OK, got it. It is true that I could learn to live with you thinking I'm incredibly sexy. We all have our crosses, you know? My turn."

"John, wait one second. Seriously. I don't just think you're sexy. I—You can be such a jerk and I like you so much."

John had to bend over to kiss the tip of her nose. "Now see, if you call me a jerk, that's like, a normal day, but if you say you like me, that's just more proof that today instead of my life I'm stuck in some crossover episode of Fantasy Island and the Twilight Zone and I'm not ready to confront that yet. So no more of that crazy talk. My turn. Hey, no fair laughing that hard. You'll never answer."

"Ok. Sorry. I'm really trying to work on keeping a straight face. It's a whole project."

"Um. Keep at it. Try not to giggle while you're keeping a straight face. It works better. Don't hit me. I'm delicate. Ow. Ok. Here's my question. If someone, say, the local criminal element, wanted to spend more than 10 minutes with you in the course of a given day, how would they go about doing that?"

Claire looked at him like he was a total fucking idiot. "Well. They might start by something radical like asking for my phone number."

John really did feel like an idiot. Girls always just gave him their numbers. He'd never really had to ask. He started even to say that. "Oh. Us-" and then he stopped dead so it sounded, hopefully, like he was saying, "you." Well. "Youse." They weren't in some old gangster movie, though. Less than convincing. Worse than idiot. Double idiot.

Claire looked confused. "I what?" She looked at John who was looking at his shoe.

Her tone was suddenly very different, but John felt like it could have been worse. Claire said quietly and matter-of-factly, "You were going to say, usually. You were going to say that usually, girls just give them to you. You don't even ask."

John shrugged. He was having trouble looking at her and he didn't even know why. He didn't see how having girls like him was anything to be ashamed of. "What can I say, Princess?" His voice sounded a little too loud, a little to casual, even for him.

Claire had the same quiet tone. Not unfriendly, not angry, just quiet. "See, I figured, if you'd wanted it, you would have asked. So I didn't give it to you. I didn't want, you know, to seem pushy."

John finally looked at her, a bit sharply. "Sorry. Lost me. I waited for God knows how long in the freezing cold for you outside a drug store. I crawled through a fucking ceiling to see you. Which I also fell through. "

"Well. Doesn't mean you, like, want my number. It could be a different kind of thing, like a not talk-I mean, you didn't want to—never mind. It doesn't matter. If this counts as you asking, I'll give you my number."

"Wait a minute, I didn't want to what?"

"I said, never mind. Anyway. It's my turn. You asked, I answered. My turn."

John knew however much it may have sounded like the same game, the tone and stakes had changed. He could feel himself retreat a little. He could feel himself a little afraid and partly he was afraid because he knew he could be an asshole when he was a little afraid. "Fire away, Princess. Game on."

Claire took a deep breath. "Ok. Remember this morning? When you were saying all that stuff to get a rise out of Mrs Mantego, and you were making fun of us?"

"Yes. I remember that. That whole thing, by the way, was fucking funny and a highlight of my week. Is it my turn now? When you can't sleep from thinking about me, what are you wearing?"

"No, it's not your turn. That was just a—locator question. Like for context. And you don't get to be a perv all the time just because you know I like how you kiss. The real question is, all that stuff you said when you were joking. Did you mean any part of it?"

John could feel a different kind of adrenalin rush. Like the fight or flight kind. He knew really neither of them was an option. Not an option he wanted. But he knew he was so afraid that he could feel his hands trembling. He didn't know how much time was left this period. He thought there was probably enough time that he couldn't count on getting saved by the bell.

He shook his head back. He could handle this. So far in the last twenty-four hours he'd faced down his violent father, his abusive mother, and his jackass principal who had suggested he kill himself. He was sure he could handle a girl asking him how he felt about her.

He had no trouble telling her he wanted her. He was very good with anything to do with sex. That was just a fact. Feelings, however, good feelings—strong feelings that weren't of rage or pain or hatred. That was a different matter entirely. He was like a fish out of water. They were just not around a lot. He would fuck it up. It was like he was afraid naming them, straight on, would be the end of them.

So, on the other hand, just a little combination of fight and flight might work here. It had worked on Andy the other day. Didn't have to be a switchblade. Just a strategy.

"Oh, c'mon, that's boring. You really want to go through that whole thing? Been there, done that. Ask another." John sounded completely dismissive and bored. He even took out a cigarette and started playing with it.

Claire's eyes narrowed. "Ok. Fine. Fair enough. You get a pass. In that case, my question is," and she paused, shook her own hair, and picked some imaginary lint off her sweater. "My question, John is, if you ask me out, how many other guys do you want me going out with, say, this week? Or, you know, just getting together with to touch tongues or whatever? Like this?"

"What the fuck, Claire?" John saw some kind of world of white between his eyes. That was so far from being anything he wanted to think about,, so far from anything he would have dreamed she might have asked about, that it whited out his brain. Now he was really pissed off. "I thought you were so new at this. I thought you had, you know, so much to learn. You want me to take a fucking number, now?" John was pretty sure this was what it felt like to be shot in the gut.

Claire looked completely calm. "I am new at this. It's why I'm asking. You're not into this whole one guy one girl thing, but should I have, like, a limit? But really, this is more a question about you. How many guys do you want to imagine, like, feeling up my sweaters or finding out I like it with a little bit of a bite or that I also like it, you know, slow and smooth, with the tongue sort of like firm but slipperyvelvet? Would you be cool with, say, five or six guys with their tongues in my mouth like that?"

Holy fuck. Had she been fucking studying? John scrubbed his face in his hands. "Did I say partial bitch?"

"I don't see why you have to get nasty. I was sold on the one girl one guy thing. But I have so much to learn. Maybe you'd like me to get caught up. Anyway. It's a simple question. If it bothers you, just say so. You can always go back to my first question if for some reason you don't want to think about this one right now. You can get back to me."

"Fine. Fine. Fuck you, by the way." He put his head in his hands again. "I'll answer the first one." He knew what this was about. He knew he'd asked for that. But now it was with him. He didn't believe in one guy one girl but now he had the image of random jock guys with their hands and tongues all over Claire was seared into his brain. He hated that image.

Ok. He needed to not be there with those thoughts. So maybe he could handle this, and get something else he wanted. He took a deep breath and turned to Claire with a caricature of patience and concern. Score one for the god damn fucking princess. Score ten.

"Ok, now, Claire. I understand your question, but it's complicated. I don't think that should really count as just one answer, cause I'll have to, you know, go through each part of it. It'll take much longer. It's like a multiple choice question. So how about," and he made a big show of thinking, then a bigger show of coming up with an idea. He was backing away, putting distance between them with his tone and his face and his words. He knew it. "I know, how about, I ask a little question first, and then, we'll tackle your longer question, and call it even?"

"I'm not telling you what I sleep in, Bender."

"Ooh. It's Bender now, is it. Ok, Standish, that wasn't going to be my question. I mean, my fantasy's probably better than some old carebear t-shirt, right?" Claire was starting to look really pissed off. He didn't care. He liked it. This was something he was good at. Riding people. Pissing people off.

"My question also pertains to our office escapades. When I walked in behind you, you were already asking for this room. Which was, by the way, incredibly impressive to watch and gave me all kinds of delinquency envy. But my question is, did you really want this room for trig, and then I happened to come conveniently come along for entertainment, or did you want this room for something else?"

Claire looked so angry, and that made her look so fucking sexy that it was all John could do to keep from grabbing her again with a lot less restraint. Everything that came out of her mouth sounded like a taunt and a come-on at the same time. Like a fucking John Bender wet dream.

"Oh, do you mean, like, did I plan it? So I could like, be alone with my secret burnout crush? Did I have this whole nefarious plan about my trig homework being so hard, and boys in my study hall ogling me, because, like, that would never happen, right? You want me to have it planned for you, to do all that, lie to the secretary, risk detention again or whatever, all so I could have a few minutes with the great fucking John Bender?"

"No," His voice sounded like it did when he was talking to the principal. He could hear it. She fucking saw right through him. He knew it had been stupid. It didn't matter. But he hated that she knew how bad he'd wanted to believe that and had called him on it and rubbed his face in it.

"Are you sure, are you sure that's not what you wanted? Are you sure you didn't want the prom queen being just a little bit bad, all for you? I mean, I told you I had trig homework, right? Did you maybe think," and she walked over to her bag and started pulling out papers, "did you think maybe I would even do one set of problems and do it a little wrong, maybe even spill a little coffee on it, to make it look so real?" She threw a paper at him. She made it seem like she was spitting it at him.

Bender looked down. The paper was covered with numbers and coffee stains. He looked at her in total shock. She didn't just look mad any more. She looked like she was about to cry. For the billionth time in the last few days, John Bender was suddenly a lot less sure that he knew what was going on.

"And then did you think I'd do those problems again, do it this time with the right answers, and keep it all neat and fresh so it would look like I'd just done it? So I could convince the secretary of my trig story? No. You'd never think of that part, because your fantasy would be like no one cared about getting caught, and if we did, I would have figured out how to get you a hall pass, too, instead of just sitting here, kicking myself for being selfish and worrying about you in there with Principal fucking Vernon because you're so badass that you have to get yourself in trouble again, just to show off. Like no one would care that he's such an asshole to you that there's clearly something wrong, was that part of your fantasy, too? That I would sit here worrying about you and feeling bad I couldn't help you while you decided to show me that you can make me wait for you too?"

John was now in total fucking panic mode. He had just gotten pretty much everything he wanted. And more. He was getting that fucking raw emotion, no bullshit, same he'd gotten on Saturday after pressing her so hard. And she had, she had wanted to see him so bad she'd planned something. Except Claire was shaking, and tears were running down her face, and she had once again completely surpassed any kind of lame fantasy he had because his were about naughtiness, and desire, but that kind of caring, that kind of worry that she might have let him down, was so far from being a part of his life that he couldn't even get his mind around it. No one ever worried about letting John Bender down. And if he had that feeling, he could fucking lose that feeling, and it would be worse than before.

And now on top of it she was throwing things at him, and throwing guys at him, the image of guys crawling over her that had never bothered him about anyone in the past and right now was making him blind with rage. And here she was, pinning him to a fucking corner, making him raw and exposed and all those things he was so good at doing to her, to all of them, she was giving it back as good as she got. He wanted to kill her and he wanted to fuck her and he wanted to sort of fall down at her feet and beg for forgiveness at the same time.

He'd just been staring at her for so long that she'd turned from him and started putting some books in her bag.

This clearly couldn't end here.

"Wait, Claire. That was my answer. Now it's time for your fucking answer, right? Come over here. Period's almost over, and we might need a little privacy. I warned you, right, it's a complicated answer." He was in her face and she was backing up, fascinated and angry and a little afraid. She turned her back on him and stalked to the back of the room. She had her back up against the wall in a little alcove made by a metal closet. She had her arms crossed.

"You want to know if anything that I said when we were playing with the secretary was for real—if I meant any of that bullshit, right?. You want to know if I'm so out of control over you? You want to know if the other girls are "out of luck" because I'm just "that crazy about Claire Standish?" Every word out of his mouth sounded like a weapon. Like he'd never heard anything so stupid in his life.

"Stop. Please. Please don't."

"But you asked, Claire, you didn't want to be pushy but you pushed, didn't you? And the rules are, you get an honest answer. Whether you want it or not."

Claire was clearly trying to breathe without crying, clearly trying not to show how much this was getting to her. That trying made it show more. Bender was beyond caring. He wanted to get to her. He wanted to get to her more than anything in his life. He didn't just want to touch her sweater. He wanted to touch her from the inside and he didn't care if she bruised. It would be like evidence he'd been there.

"So, you wondered if maybe some of this was true: like, I'm so gone over you that I break into a run at the sight of you, just at the thought I could see you for a minute, because I wanted to see you that fucking bad and I couldn't figure out a way, because like you say, I'm not so smart? I'm not so smart, and I see you in the office and it's all I can think about, I could stand close to you without your little friends that you care so much about right there looking, so I run into the principal's office, the same principal who has such a fucking hard-on for grinding me down that he'll risk his job just to threaten me and give up every weekend from now till summer? You wanted to know if maybe that part was true? Or I know. You want to know if maybe, those other girls, like the girls in my wallet, if they really are all out of luck because all I can think about is you? Is that it? Did you want that so bad? Is that the part you wanted to be true in that bullshit?"

John shook his head as if to shake the absurdity of it away. He came right up into Claire's face so only inches separated then. He put a hand on either side of her body and leaned into it without touching, like before. He spoke very quietly but with incredible venom. "Let me tell you just which parts of that pathetic joke were true. I'll whisper it to you. Listen carefully. It's very complicated."

"John, stop. Please. I'm sorry. I didn't mean—It was just stupid. I just wanted—"

"Shh. Claire. It's not your turn." John could hear his voice sounding a little like a psychotic nursery school teacher but he didn't care. He knew he had her. He knew she would hear him. "You had your turn. You have to listen now. Listen carefully. I'm going to explain exactly what part of that I meant."

His entire body was shaking. He wasn't sure he could do this. He had to. Hell, he'd already told her. He'd told her without knowing he even felt it. He'd just told her with an out. He'd told her like the wuss he was, like a joke he could laugh off.

John leaned further into Claire. He brushed her hair away and then he breathed in so he could remember her perfume, her shampoo, her fucking bubblegum lip gloss. In case this was not quite what she had in mind, after all. In case he never got here again. Because there really wasn't any backing out now. He put his mouth up against her ear and said in a low voice, softer than a whisper but still vibrating around her neck and ear, mingling with his breath and the way he touched her hair, so she could hear,

"Every. Fucking. Word."


End file.
